


Heart Strings

by andquitefrankly



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BUT THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW EACH OTHER, M/M, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, be prepared for the pining, bilbo and thorin are smitten, bilbo plays the piano and owns a music shop, bilbo's not a stalker he just really likes thorin's music, folksinger!thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/pseuds/andquitefrankly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oakenshield is the next big thing in indie folk music, from his soulful voice to his enigmatic writing, everything about him is perfect. Only Bilbo really wished someone had warned him before he blindly went to his show. If someone had warned him, maybe he wouldn't have become completely infatuated with the grouchy singer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUGH!! SO I HAVE SO MANY FICS I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF BUT I CAN'T GET THIS ONE OUT OF MY HEAD. so here it is. :D  
> Folksinger!thorin, who's a complete doofus and Bilbo, the dork who falls in love with him. ah yes.  
> This fic couldn't have happened without [radioproxy](http://radioproxy.tumblr.com/), who's my wicked enabler.  
> Hope you enjoy! :)

He was fifteen when his father gifted him with a beat up guitar for his birthday.

They weren’t a particularly musical family – unless you called the drunken caterwauling music – and Thorin had never shown any interest in music, aside from his and Dwalin’s daydream of starting a rock band. They’d get famous and finally be able to leave their sleepy town in the Blue Mountains.

It had been a mining town, once upon a time, wealthy and booming. But now all that remained were the miners and their pride, tales of gold and jewels and coal a thing of the distant past.

So Thorin did what any teenager would do, taking the old guitar down to Dwalin’s place so they could plan their rise to fame. Between the two of them, they could figure out a chord or two.

That wasn’t enough. Not if they wanted to truly make a name for themselves.

Off they went, Dwalin hollering and Thorin playing, storming into the music shop in the next town, insisting that the old shop owner teach them to play with all the belligerence of their age.

Mr. Grey agreed, but for a minimal fee.

They were to work in his shop at least once a week, and in return, they would receive lessons. It was an excellent trade.

They kept at it for a few years, or rather, Thorin did. Dwalin’s interest quickly feigned, but Thorin came once a week, guitar strapped to his back, eager to learn all he could.

But then, Thorin stopped.

Mr. Grey awaited his arrival but he didn’t come. Days, then weeks, then months. Eventually, Mr. Grey put his Help Wanted sign back on his door, stuffing the music books he had saved back on the shelf. It seemed his pupil had moved on.

* * *

The High Note was a little music store nestled between a Laundromat and a craft store.

It had sat there for years, finding its beginnings as a pet project for Bungo Baggins and his then, new bride, Belladonna. She loved music, having been a violinst herself before matrimony. And while she wanted to settle down, she didn’t want to lose that first love, and Bungo was eager to please.

He bought the old shop as a wedding present, years of saving up from teaching children how to play the piano and breathe into a trumpet. He carried his new bride across the threshold and their life began anew, filled with more music than ever before.

Bungo continued his lessons, but now in the privacy of his home, the flat above the shop. Belladonna sat in the shop most of the day, greeting her customers, singing songs and playing records, helping children reach the high shelves and encouraging parents to buy that music book.

It was a peaceful life, and they relished in it.

They were soon joined by a son, Bilbo Baggins, and he too could be found in the shop, tapping away at his xylophone, plucking guitar chords, slamming his hands on keyboards. He was a musical prodigy, his mother would declare as he banged against a drum, bopping his head to the song only he could hear.

When he was a reasonable age, somewhere along 5 years old, Bungo set Bilbo aside and taught him the piano. The piano, he told him, was a beautiful, delicate instrument.

Belladonna would roll her eyes, whispering under her breathe that all instruments were beautiful and delicate, be it the piano, violin, clarinet, or even the human voice. And then she’d sing a song, lifting Bilbo into the air as he giggled, singing along with her.

Bilbo learned the piano, chubby fingers dancing upon the keys, marveling at the skill his father had, determined to play just as well. Though lovely to hear, Bilbo couldn’t quite keep up. But Bungo would ruffle his curls and encourage him.

He continued on playing, taking a keen interest in ragtime, just as his father. Music filled their shop and home, every step was note on their toes, every laugh a melody.

Theirs was a happy life, filled with song.

But all songs must come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, all the following chapters will be named after songs, so if you know any songs you think might be appropriate for this fic, let me know! Otherwise all chapters will be named after Josh Ritter songs. ahaha. i'm a loser. okay i'm going to sleep. i have work at nine and it's almost midnight. *gulp*


	2. Upward Over the Mountain

He wasn’t big by any means. He was well known within a small circle, filled with pretentious assholes who thought he had the answers to the universe.

They’d gather in groups to discuss the pains of losing a loved one as featured in his lastest single. Of course, a few would often approach him, laud his voice, his writing, his ability to transcend sorrow into song. “What was going through your head?” they’d ask, as if some of his genius could rub off on them. What was happening in his life, or had happened, to write something so heartbreaking.

They were never appeased by his response of, “My nephew lost his stuffed dog at the aquarium.”

It wasn’t a lie! Kili had lost his best friend that day. He sobbed onto his uncle’s shoulder as they left, not finding any trace of Mr. Pockets in the cafeteria or the lost and found.

Fili and he had tried to console him, but Kili had never lost someone so dear to him before and when Thorin got home, he had to put pen to paper. His heartache was something Thorin was familiar with, and the words flowed easily.

By the next morning, he had called up Dori and played him the song, his manager completely over the moon. At this rate, he might be able to get noticed by someone mutually beneficial to them both.

“Can you say record deal?” Dori sung.

“No,” Thorin replied. “I don’t want a record deal.”

Dori had sputtered, coming up for reasons as to why Thorin was an idiot and he needed him to make the important decisions because he was clearly unable. Either way, Dori was going to do what was right for him.

“Where?” Thorin asked, sitting up from where he had been admittedly snoozing on Dis’ couch. He had about an hour before the boys came home from school and he needed his energy to deal with those hellions.

“Man in the Moon Lounge,” Dis snapped, slapping Thorin’s chest. “They’re huge! How’d you get _him_ into a  place like that?”

Thorin frowned. Why did she have to say it like that? He wasn’t exactly the most dazzling performer, but he got the job done. He had as much talent as those… Gaga's and Youtube’s.

“Nori’s friend with the owner,” Dori admitted sheepishly, brushing a piece of lint off his shirt sleeve. Well that explained it. “But I did play him your demo, and he loved it!”

“That’s wonderful!” Dis exclaimed, jumping onto her feet and embracing Dori.

It seemed like Dis was his greatest supporter, believing in him even when Thorin felt like giving up. He wasn’t after fame or fortune, like Dori, and most likely Dis. He just wanted to play his music. But that didn’t pay the bills, nor did it truly please him like it used to.

Despite how much he hated those young hipsters who came to him expecting him to be the next James Joyce, he enjoyed playing before them. Seeing an audience before him, bopping their heads to the beat, singing his songs back to him, clambering to know what went into his art; that was what truly made this whole singing business enjoyable.

He was a performer, not just a guy with a guitar and a notebook filled with unsung songs.

Thorin sighed. “When?”

Dori beamed, sitting down beside Thorin and pulling out a small pocketbook from his suit pocket. He flipped through the pages until he found the information he wanted. “First Friday in April, you’ve got a two hour block.”

“I don’t have enough material for two hours,” Thorin sputtered. He had like, seven songs, tops. Original compositions didn’t just happen. And April was only two weeks away.

“No one’s expecting you to sing _Misty Mountains_ for two hours,” Dori told him.

What was that supposed to mean? _Misty Mountains_ was a classic! It was one of the first songs he’d ever written and a fan favorite, thank you very much.

“Get off your high horse,” Dis scolded, smacking him in the back of the head, snapping his scowl into pout. “No one’s saying you’re not good enough.”

Dis was always able to read him like a book. He slunk down into the couch.

“A half hour will be your original compositions, and the rest will be covers,” Dori explained. “You can obviously intersperse. Maybe you could take requests!”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. He was _not_ taking requests.

Dori cleared his throat. He had been hoping that if he phrased it right, Thorin would agree. Clearly not. “It’ll be a cinch,” Dori finished, flashing a smile.

* * *

“Bifur, that doesn’t go there,” Bilbo shouted from where he was ringing up his customer on the other side of the shop.

Bifur wobbled slightly on his ladder, staring down at the box full of picks in his arms. He looked back at the wall. It was filled with accessories for woodwind instruments. “Sorry, Mr. Baggins,” he mumbled out, folding the ladder back and walking to the other end of the shop.

Customers gone and brand new music stand loaded into their car, Bilbo rushed to Bifur’s side. “Need any help?” he asked.

Bifur shook his head, stuffing the box on the highest shelf.

“I’ll be in the back, if you need me,” Bilbo told him, patting his leg and wandering to the music rooms, where people of all ages came to practice or take their lessons. Bilbo taught piano and Bifur – well Bifur taught everything else.

It was the main reason he hired the man. That and he was good friends with his cousin, Bofur. He was a bit quiet, and a slightly quirky, but not so much that he painted the High Note in a bad light. He could be a bit spacey at times, but who wasn’t?

Bilbo swept the rooms, and righted chairs, thinking on what he was going to have for dinner. He checked his watch and noticed it was nearly six. Just about closing time.

“Bifur?” he called out, going to front door and flipping the closed sign.

The man popped his head out of the inventory room. “Yes, Mr. Baggins?”

He had tried for years to get him to call him Bilbo, but to no avail. But one day he’d succeed. Bilbo was certain of it. “You can go home, I’ll clean up.”

An hour later, Bilbo was putting his cash boxes into the safe and locking the back room. He straightened his display a little, not really needing to do anything more, but not wanting to leave just yet.

He decided to clear the corkboard of clutter.

The giant board graced the wall immediately to the right of the doors, where anyone could easily spot it and he detested clearing the thing. Usually, people came in, tore off old flyers and put up new ones. Sometimes they gave him some flyers to hand out to customers, and, if they were regulars or close friends, Bilbo agreed. He felt it was right to support independent artists.

Usually the board cycled itself out, but Bilbo couldn’t depend on others. There were probably want ads from December still up there, seeing as that was the last time he had gotten himself to clear up the board.

He grabbed a stool, a packet of pushpins, and a rubbish bin. He pulled off every flyer and set them on the floor; he’d get to those in a bit. He examined every push pin, throwing away the broken ones, or the stuck ones, having to grab a pair of pliers for the stubborn ones.

He stepped off the stool and sat cross legged on the ground, divvying up flyers chronologically. If any of them were older than a month, he tossed them.

Pleased with himself, he posted each flyer back up, making sure they were all even and symmetrical. A crooked and messy board drove him crazy, but not crazy enough to fix more often.

Feeling he’d done his duty, he put all his tools away, finally ready to head home, when he spotted it.

A flyer had apparently come loose, either through the course of the day or when he was clearing it, and had fallen under the checkout counter.

Bilbo picked it up and grabbed another push pin, ready to put it up when he paused.

The flyer wasn’t that unusual. He’d seen dozens like it before, but he was rather taken by the image.

There was a man, standing with his back to the camera, an acoustic guitar slung across his back. The lighting gave it an edge, making the guitar almost look like a gleaming sword.

The man was clearly fit, if those jeans were any proof.

_THORIN OAKENSHIELD @ MAN IN THE MOON. EVERY FRIDAY AT 9, STARTING 5 APRIL_

Underneath that were his website and Facebook page. He must be pretty decent if he got a steady gig at Bofur’s. Heaven knew Bofur refused anything less than brilliance at club.

Bilbo read the flyer again, pausing at the name of the artist. Oakenshield. How odd.

Bilbo wondered if Bifur had brought in the flyer. Bofur could have given it to him to put up. Bilbo had been advertising that man’s club for years, so it wouldn’t be the first time. Though it could have easily been this Oakenshield fellow.

Only, Bilbo would have noticed someone like that entering his shop.

He cleared his throat and pinned the flyer to the corkboard. It’s not like it mattered anyway. This was a public bulletin board.

Perhaps he’d check him out. Support the indie community.

Bilbo nodded to himself, making a mental note to jot it down in his planner as he locked up his shop.

It was always nice to discover new artists.


	3. Work Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo hears Thorin play for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I was kind of obsessed? I've literally been thinking of this story non-stop. So now's the time for a little bit of announcements (?)  
> Firstly, I made a [playlist](https://play.spotify.com/user/andquitefrankly/playlist/4CBHH5NjfXmATq861ZCqRg) for this fic. It'll be updated after each chapter, with songs played during the chapter, or songs that are just mood music, as well as the song for the title of each chapter.  
> Secondly, I have a [tag on my tumblr](http://andquitefrankly.tumblr.com/tagged/folksinger!thorin) with art, musings, asks, and so forth on this au. Because I can't shut up.  
> Lastly! I make mention of things (i.e. the name of some of Thorin's guitars. yes he names his guitars.) If you want to know a little more on that, I suggest you [read this post. ](http://andquitefrankly.tumblr.com/post/112487749750/my-neighbour-is-a-music-major-who-plays-guitar-and)  
> Also, I imagine "Misty Mountains" being a mix between Neil Flinn's 'Song of the Lonely Mountain' and 'Over the Misty Mountains Cold'. I don't have songwriting ability to make this a thing, but just imagine it. Okay  
> That's all! Enjoy! :)

The Man in the Moon Lounge was a reasonably sized club, the floor covered in round tables, the walls lined with booths that faced the large stage that took up half of what should have been a dance floor. The club was divvyed up into two floors, and the bar stood proudly in the middle of it, the only access to it by the staircases that ran alongside it. 

Originally a dance club, Bofur had come in and decided that what he wanted was to promote musical artists, focusing on their skills. It was a club for those of refined taste, willing to drink a good wine and dine on roast pig while a man played his harp or a woman played heavy guitar while screaming her lungs out.

He and Bombur invested all their money, and were rewarded with unbelievable success.

For ten years they’d been in business, and in that time, no one in the local community could seriously discuss music without giving Man in the Moon a mention. After all, his was the stepping stone to bigger and better venues.

If you got a gig at the Moon, then you were surely off to success.

Bofur was behind the bar when Bilbo entered, waving at his friend as he spotted those curls coming down the staircase. His mustached bobbed up and down as he shouted, “Bilbo!” his smile taking up most of his face. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Bilbo hopped onto a bar stool, feet dangling off the floor, kicking back and forth as he looked around. He hadn’t been here in weeks. It was good to get out. “Bard finally left,” he opened with.

“Left me for bigger, better things, he did,” Bofur replied, faking a sniffle.

“Greenwood?”

“Greenwood,” Bofur confirmed. He waved his hand, brushing off the subject. “He deserves it.”

“What about this new one then?” Bilbo asked, pointing to the poster on the wall, identical to the one in his shop, only bigger. “This Oakenshield any good?”

“Oh ho!” Bofur exclaimed, fingers rubbing at his moustache like a cartoon villain. “I knew there was an angle. You don’t like me enough to come willingly.”

Bilbo refused to be embarrassed. Perhaps he hadn’t come to visit as often as he could, but he was tired in the evenings. He did run a very successful shop. Sometimes he enjoyed staying in and reading a good book. What was wrong with that? And so what if this singer was the reason he came. At least he had shown up!

“I love you, Bof,” Bilbo declared. “Sometimes, I think too much. Which is why I stay far, far away.”

Bofur snorted, shaking his head as the lights dimmed. “Well then, stay far, far away at your usual booth. I’ve got a job to do anyway.” He motioned to the irate customer that had been waiting for his martini for a good ten minutes. “I’ll send Bombur round with today’s special.”

And just before he let Bilbo go, he leaned in and whispered, “You know, Bilbo. He’s just your type, this Oakenshield.”

Bilbo was not going to respond to that statement, sniffing in disdain as he dodged tables and chairs to get to his booth, just close enough to the stage for a good view, but far enough that he wasn’t noticeable to the performer.

A spotlight lit up the stage and Nori came on stage, his bright red hair braided down his back, smiling at the audience as he stepped up to the mic. “Evenin’ ladies and gents – and everything in between. Welcome to Man in the Moon.

“Tonight we have a new artist on our stage. He’s a little shy, so let’s show him some love, eh? He needs no further introduction: Thorin Oakenshield.”

Nori held out his arms as Thorin stepped onto the stage, his black guitar in hand. He clapped Thorin on the back before stepping off and it was just the musician, the audience politely clapping.

He headed towards the stool positioned in front of the mic and checked it’s sturdiness, rocking it back and forth, face lighting up as he saw a table with water bottles.

Bilbo felt his jaw drop.

Bofur had been right. He was just his type. Six feet of muscle and beard. How did he fit into those jeans?

Just slather him in butter and throw him in the oven to roast because damn, he was delectable. Bilbo’s mouth was watering just looking at him. Feeling his cheeks rosing at these turn of thoughts, Bilbo took a long draught of his beer, glad that he was sitting alone.

He didn’t need anyone noticing his noticeable attraction.

Thorin smiled shyly at the audience, pleased with his set up, perching his perfectly sculpted glutes onto the stool, fidgeting with his guitar strap.

“Evenin’,” he spoke into the microphone and Bilbo was going to need a bucket to douse the flame in his cheeks. That voice!

It was all gravel and spice. A deep bass that cause shivers to dance through his spine.

“It’s a pleasure to be here with you,” Thorin continued, clearing his throat. He licked his lips as he leaned close to the mic and said, “This first song is called No Envy, No Fear.”

He looked down at his weathered boots, thumb tapping against the body of his guitar before putting fingers to strings.

It was a soft, slow piece, and Bilbo grinned at the choice of song. He was easing his way into their good graces. Good call.

Bilbo took another sip of beer and almost choked as Thorin opened his mouth and let loose a voice cherished by the gods.

Heavens above, his voice was like honey covered sex. His voice had gone down an octave and that scratchy quality was giving Bilbo goosebumps.  

The Lord was testing him.

Bilbo could feel the atmosphere of the club change. It was charged with electricity and all eyes were glued to Thorin, not wanting to miss a moment, a chord, a beat. Bilbo was certain no one was breathing.

Thorin looked up from his boots and looked out towards his audience, the spotlight highlighting that jaw, that nose. His eyes were so blue, like a robin’s egg, or a piece of sky, or the damned ocean. Did a color like that even exist? Similes couldn’t even begin to describe them.

The song ended and there was a pause before riotous applause greeted Thorin, his smile growing just a little wider, relief clearly coursing through him. “Thanks,” he said, going straight into another song.

Bilbo felt his heart pound and knew. He was so screwed.

* * *

Thorin opened his second water bottle and downed half of it. He could feel the sweat dripping down his temple and he felt disgusting.

He only had a half hour left of the show and he was good.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and told his audience, “Sorry.”

They all chuckled, and relief washed over him. He wasn’t doing too bad a job. If anything, this show was a bit of an ego booster. “This next song,” Thorin introduced, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, “I wrote when I first picked up a guitar. And I won’t tell you when that was, to save myself some dignity.”

The audience laughed again and Thorin held back his grin. He was on fire, tonight. He put mouth to mic and softly sang “Misty Mountains.”

It was his first real composition, written whilst lounging on Dwalin’s bedroom floor, his best pal snoring on his bed, their chemistry homework forgotten. It was, in a way, a love song to his dying town. His grandfather, Thrain, would wax poetry of the Blue Mountains’ heyday.

Then, he told him, they called it Erebor, a whispered name spoken in awe and deference. But as he wrote that song, his town was falling apart, quickly losing residents and the only people who cared were the old folk who couldn’t leave.

He neared the end of the song when he looked out into the audience, the lights nearly blinding him. Everyone seemed to be entranced and it pleased Thorin to no end. Maybe, in these few precious moments, they’d be able to feel just as heartbroken as his grandfather had been, how he had been, seeing his family slowly lose their glory.

It was as he struck his last chord that he spotted him.

A tiny thing with curly hair. The details were difficult to make out with the lights in his eyes, but Thorin was breathless. Had the gods sent him an angel?

The audience broke into applause and Thorin grabbed his water bottle once more.

“Thank you,” he told them. “Now how about we lighten things up a bit.”

The rest of the night passed quickly and Thorin was drenched in sweat, his t-shirt sticking to his chest in an unattractive manner.

Ugh, he was going to go home and take a ten hour shower. He felt utterly disgusting.

“You were amazing!” Dis shouted, throwing her arms around Thorin as he stepped off stage, immediately letting go, arms outstretched in disgust. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, shuddering. “You’re soaked.”

“Uncle!” Fili and Kili shouted, two parts excited to see him, one part ecstatic that they got to stay up so long past their bedtime. “You were brilliant!”

Thorin wasn’t too sure if he believed them or was just taking cues from their mother, but he appreciated the sentiment either way. He picked up the boys, holding them under both arms, careful to keep Orcrist out of their line of fire.

Very soon they were going to be too big for this, and Thorin was not looking forward to it. “I was brilliant?” he repeated. “You’re not just saying that for ice cream?”

“No!” they giggled, going limp in their uncle’s arms. Thorin stumbled forward, muscles bulging. Yep, most definitely getting too big.

“Good,” Thorin smiled. “But I’ll buy you ice cream anyway.”

Dwalin smirked. “I think maybe next week you ought to let Nori play with you.”

“I could bring Benji next time,” Thorin commented and Dwalin groaned. He hated how much Thorin actually used those ridiculous names for his instruments.

“I wouldn’t be against it,” Nori chimed in. “It’d be nice to get some more variety. At least now you’ve wet their appetites.”

Thorin nodded, putting his nephews back on solid ground, putting Orcrist back into its case. “They liked it, right?” Thorin asked.

Dis pulled at his ear. “They loved it, you berk.”

“Berk!” Kili shouted as Fili yawned.

“Alright, time to head home,” Dis said, picking up Kili and tucking his head into her neck as Thorin lifted Fili into his own arms, Dwalin grabbing Thorin’s guitar.

As they left the club, the last act of the evening on stage, Thorin silently searched the audience for the mysterious man, hoping to get one last glimpse, a melody beginning to form in the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THINGS ARE HEATING UP. XD


	4. Brother, Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo internet stalks Thorin and finds the loser's Twitter account. Thorin should really stop taking everything so seriously, also, possible song about shark? He's still thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on my other fics I PROMISE. Meanwhile, take this as my humble offering. Also, aside from the spotify playlist, I also made an [8tracks playlist](http://8tracks.com/andquitefrankly/folksinger-thorin). It's exactly the same, but I felt like more people could actually listen to the 8tracks as opposed to the other one. :)  
> Uh... Yeah. :D

A sudden draft was what woke Thorin, the blanket torn off his body, leaving him to face the brisk morning air in just his boxers, much to Dis’ delight.

“Go away,” Thorin growled, hand searching for his blanket with little success. He opened an eye only to catch Dis standing before him, mobile snapping photos of him. “Dis!”

“Hush, it’s for your twitter.”

Thorin had no idea what a Twitter was, but Dis was always justifying her overbearing attitude with Twitter, YouTube, Facebook, Vine, and who knew what other made up words she felt like using.

“Tell me how you’re feeling in 140 characters or less,” she instructed.

“Bugger off,” Thorin grumbled, glaring into the camera.

“Beautiful,” Dis commented. “Your fans are going to love this.”

She always spoke of his fans as if _they_ knew what a Twitter was. Or as if there were a legion of them, lying in wait for her to give them pictures of him in nothing but his pants.

He really hoped they weren’t.

“What’re you doing here?” Thorin groaned, stretching out on his bed like a cat, back and shoulders popping. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s noon, “ Dis said, smacking his thigh and breezing out of his room. “You have that meeting with Dori in an hour.”

“Shit,” Thorin cursed, flopping out of bed, legs tangled in his bed sheets.

“And there he is,” Dis snorted, phone aimed at Thorin as he ran into the kitchen, hair a tangled mess, drool stained on his cheek, recording him crash into a wall. “A true sex symbol for the ages.”

* * *

It wasn’t stalking.

Everyone did it. Honestly, if they didn’t want you to find out all of this information, they wouldn’t put it up on the internet.

Bilbo minimized his browser window and banged his head against his desk. He was such a creep.

He had gone home in a daze the night before, still hearing Thorin’s deep, sonorous voice. It made his body hum, thrum with energy.

Now in the early morning light, Bilbo decided that what he should do was look up Thorin Oakenshield online. The man had printed his Facebook and website on his flyer, and if Bilbo also discovered his Instagram and Twitter, then you know, that was all just luck.

He had been on his Twitter account when it updated, a picture of Thorin Oakenshield, snuggled up in bed, passed out cold. _Sleepy Beauty at his finest. I’ve hijacked his phone and he shall face my wrath._

Bilbo’s mouth had run dry. Even a hot mess, he was fine as hell. It was completely unfair. Not to mention, it wasn’t just bright lights and tight jeans that blinded Bilbo to his hotness. He was actually hot. He was a complete and total babe.

And he could sing. And play guitar.

And was a nervous flower.

Bilbo stepped away from the computer and refused to think about the musician. It had been a good show and that was that. Bilbo had a shop to run. He had things to do.

That didn’t stop him from following him on twitter, and Instagram… liking his Facebook page, subscribing to his YouTube channel, bookmarking his website. Honestly, how many different places was this guy on?

Bilbo wrote it off as supporting a local artist. It was good for the community!

With that in mind, Bilbo tried not to think how deep in denial he was.

He opened the shop around ten, happily greeting his early customers, a few were those who came for their weekly lesson with Bifur.

Bilbo was too busy that morning, teaching piano or helping a child choose which music book to buy, that he had no time to dwell on the bearded musician.

In fact, he had completely forgot about Thorin Oakenshield until he sat down behind the register during the lunchtime lull, pulling out his phone to check his email, only to find he had five notifications from Thorin’s Twitter.

Bilbo quickly scanned the shop, finding himself completely alone, aside from Bifur who was rearranging their window display. No one had to know he wasn’t actually doing business. And anyway, it was his shop.

The first tweet was another picture of Thorin in bed, face scrunched up in pain. His blanket had been pulled off him, and his completely fit body was on display. Bilbo’s mouth did not water in the slightest. Nope. The tweet accompanying it said: _“Bugger off.” Rude Much. #sleepingbeauty_

The next was a link to a Vine of Thorin crashing into a wall, a woman sarcastically saying, “And there he is. A true sex symbol for the ages.”

The third made it clear that Thorin had retrieved his mobile. _“Remember when I said I hated my sister? I really hate my sister.”_

That was quickly followed by: _Breakfast!_

Then about ten minutes after, he tweeted a selfie of himself gobbling down cereal, milk in his beard and a dorky smile on his face. _As an adult, I declare that just because it’s noon doesn’t mean I can’t eat Lucky Charms._

Bilbo put down his phone and swallowed.

It was for the community. For a local musician.

He suddenly turned red and covered his face in his hands, glad that there were no customers there to pry.

Thorin Oakenshield was a huge dork and Bilbo was going to die.

* * *

“What rhymes with dark?”

“Park!”

“Lark!”

“Snark?”

“Shark!”

Thorin looked up from his notebook, brows furrowed in confusion. “Shark?”

Kili nodded. “You can write a song about a shark.”

“Snark isn’t a word,” Fili told his brother, flicking Kili in the ear.

“Lark isn’t either!” Kili shouted, reaching for Fili’s ears.

Dis flicked Fili’s ear in retribution, sitting down between her boys before they could start a brawl, setting a cup of coffee before Thorin. “If you two don’t behave, I won’t let your uncle babysit you anymore.”

“Mum!” they whined.

Thorin wasn’t sure she understood what a punishment was. He loved his nephews to bits, but sometimes he wished she’d stop using him as a prize in order to get the boys to behave. In the end the only one who was truly punished was himself.

“Where’s Dori?” Thorin asked, sipping at his coffee, only to spit it back out, hissing, “Hot!”

Dori took that opportunity to waltz through the door, suit perfectly tailored and not a hair out of place. He was ever the professional, despite the fact that he wasn’t actually a music agent. More like, the only one aside from Dis who thought Thorin had the potential and talent to make it big.

He sat himself at Thorin’s table, a glint in his eye as he placed a hand over Thorin’s and said, “I think I can get you a gig at Greenwood’s.”

“No,” Thorin said, pulling his hand away and taking a careful sip of his coffee.

Dori immediately deflated. “I’ve been talking to Thranduil, and he’s willing to give you next Sunday.”

“I said no.”

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Dis scolded. “Just because you two have a little feud.”

“He’s willing to look past it, you know,” Dori chimed in. “This is good.”

Thorin frowned. He didn’t care if Thranduil begged on his hands and knees, Thorin was never going to play at Greenwood and that was that. He didn’t need that man’s charity. “I’d rather roast myself over a fire,” Thorin said.

Dis and Dori shared a look. “At least think about it,” Dori said.

“No.”

“For heaven’s sake, Thorin,” Dis hissed. “This spat of yours is ridiculous.”

“He called me a talentless baboon who didn’t know his ass from a chord,” Thorin reminded them, eyes hard.

Fili and Kili oooh’ed under their breath, snickering at their uncle’s use of a curse word.

“That was so long ago,” Dori argued. “Besides, you called him a long haired prick with a stick shoved so far up his ass, it was any wonder he could sit without the stick popping out of his head. And then you said he needed a better dye job.”

Dis dropped her head onto the table. She had completely forgotten about that. “He was willing to forget all of that?”

The guilty look on Dori’s face said quite the opposite. “You were going to make me apologize, weren’t you?” Thorin asked.

“Alright! Yes, I was,” Dori admitted. “But it was for Greenwood! You know how popular that club is.”

“I thought Man in the Moon was popular,” Thorin said. “You said it was my big break.”

“It is.”

Thorin looked at him with suspicion. “Who wants pizza?” he asked, the bored Fili and Kili perking up.

“I do!” they shouted and Thorin waved his goodbye to Dori, officially taking over as babysitter, Fili and Kili leeching onto his arms as they exited the small café.

Dori huffed, grabbing Thorin’s abandoned coffee and downing it in one go. “That man doesn’t appreciate me.”

“It was worth a shot, Dori,” Dis reassured him. “Now that they’ve gone, I can show you the pictures I took of him from last night’s show. I’m thinking we can record next week’s performance and put a few songs on his YouTube channel.”

“What would he do without you?” Dori asked, eagerly grabbing Dis’ phone.

“Play his guitar at bus stops, that’s what.”


	5. Girl in the War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin stumbles over his words (like a teen with a crush), Bilbo is NOT obsessed, thank you very much. And Thorin refuses to play at Greenwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter on my computer for a while. But like, only the first 500 words. also, third update in a week!! someone on a roll!!  
> i'm trying to hurry cause i'm gonna go watch avengers in like ten minutes!! wooo!!!!  
> once again i do have updated playlists (on spotify and 8tracks) for this fic. i don't have time to link right now but you can find them under andquitefrankly. also, you'll find stuff on my folksinger!thorin tag on tumblr!! (also andqutiefrankly)  
> AUGH I'VE GOT TO GO I'M SO EXCITED. I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE THIS CHAPTER!!!! :3

 Bilbo only felt mildly guilty persuading Hamfast to close that Friday.

He used a visit with Bofur as an excuse. It had been so long since the two got together, and he was always busy, and aren’t you just a little glad to get out of the house for a bit?

Hamfast saw right past all of his excuses, but relented all the same, seeing as he hadn’t come in for a while, the birth of his fifth child – Samwise, their third boy – taking up much of his time. He needed some time for himself, away from the wife and kids, away from his colicky son.

Bilbo was immensely grateful, promising a bonus as he skipped out of the shop, rolling up the sleeves on his button up.

He stepped into Man in the Moon with a bounce in his step, just as a woman took the stage, seating primly at the piano.

“Bofur,” Bilbo called, sidling up to his friend who was stuffing his face with a shrimp cocktail. “Who’s this?” Bilbo asked, pointing at the pianist.

“Friend of Bombur’s,” Bofur replied, offering a little shrimp to Bilbo. Bilbo gladly took it, only to have Bofur keep it slightly out of reach, staring deeply at Bilbo.

“What?”

Bofur let go of the shrimp, stroking his mustache in thought. “You were here last week.”

“Can’t see an old friend?” Bilbo smiled, happily chewing on his snack. “You’re always complaining how we never see each other.”

Bofur shook his head. “Oh no, I know you, Bilbo, and you’re not one to pop in for a wee visit just because.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bilbo sniffed, hiding his panic by watching the young pianist play Liebestraum No. 3 in A Flat Major. She wasn’t doing too bad a job, though that piano might be due for a tuning soon. It sounded a bit sharp.

Nothing too noticeable, but Bilbo knew it was going to bug him all night.

“She’s not bad,” Bofur said, pointing at the pianist. “She’s real cute, too.”

“Piano’s sharp,” Bilbo replied. “I can come in some times this week if you like.”

Bofur lifted his eyebrows. “So that’s the reason, is it?” He ruffled Bilbo’s hair, skewing his already messy curls. “Looking to get paid, are ya?” he asked.

“You’ve never paid me,” Bilbo grumbled, shoving Bofur away. “Not even that one time I bought dinner cause you forgot your wallet.”

“You’re so charitable,” Bofur grinned. “It’s what makes you a great pal.”

Bilbo snorted. “You’re just a cheapskate.”

Bofur clutched at his heart. “That hurts,” he groaned. Bilbo just rolled his eyes, stealing another little shrimp.

He watched the woman with little interest, checking his watch every now and then. It was nearly nine, and he was beginning to get restless. How soon could he bring up Thorin without raising Bofur’s suspicions? He was bound to come up on stage any time now.

The pianist finished her last piece and Bilbo applauded politely, trying to will away his nervous jitters. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like he was going to talk to the man.

And it’s not like he’ll know that Bilbo was one of his most avid followers on Twitter. He couldn’t possibly have a clue, seeing as he had hundreds of followers. You’d think he was actually famous, and not just a local musician.

“Is that Oakenshield fella still playing here?” Bilbo casually asked, as the piano was wheeled to the side, replaced with a lone mic and a stool. Nori seemed to be setting up his drum kit behind, and Bilbo didn’t remember that from the last show.

For all he knew, Thorin had decided to leave the Man in the Moon and go to some other club. And if that happened, Bilbo had to find out pronto.

Because he was supporting a local artist. Not because he was obsessed.

He was not obsessed. That was such a strong word.

Bofur’s eyes lit up. “I knew it!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands, his mustache bouncing along with him. “Little Bilbo’s got the hots for Mr. Oakenshield.” He giggled happily, ignoring Bilbo’s annoyed glare.

He patted him on the back as he led him to his usual table, sitting down beside him and calling over a waiter for the night’s special. “The minute he came into my office I took one look and thought, ‘yes, Bilbo could definitely climb that like a tree,’ and had to hire him.”

Bilbo covered his red face with his hands. “Shut up,” Bilbo hissed. “It’s not like that.”

“I can introduce you,” Bofur sang, fingers drumming on the table.

“Don’t you have to go do your job or something?” Bilbo grumbled.

“That I do,” Bofur agreed, standing. “But I’ll see if I can lock you two in a closet or something first.”

* * *

Thorin plucked at his guitar idly as he reclined on the couch backstage. That morning’s rehearsal went smoothly, and it was nice to hear Nori backing him up.

Usually it was just him, but having someone onstage with him eased his jitters. Plus they were doing some new songs, and it was always good to have someone there to keep him on track in case he flubbed a line or forgot how to play a song.

It didn’t happen very often, but enough times to keep Thorin awake at night thinking about it.

“Buck up,” Dwalin said, slapping Thorin’s shoulder, sliding Thorin’s fingers across his fret board. “You’ve got a packed house.”

“Full house,” Thorin muttered. He didn’t want to look out at his audience. He was just as nauseas now as he was last week.

 This was ridiculous. Why were Dis and Dori convinced he could actually make a career out of this? He’d much rather continue making tables for the rest of his life, thanks very much.

He heard the photo being taken and sighed. Dis chuckled quietly to herself, tapping into her phone as if she hadn’t just ruined Thorin’s tenth failed attempt at getting himself together.

“He looks all deep,” Dwalin grunted over Dis’ shoulder. “And a little constipated.”

“Shut up,” Thorin replied, closing his eyes and trying to get into that headspace. Why was this always so hard? He heard a faint snicker and realized, oh yeah, that’s why.

He hated them. The lot of them.

“Is Uncle Thorin sleeping?” Fili whispered.

“But he has to play his music,” Kili whispered back.

Thorin opened his eyes to find his nephews staring back at him, concern written in their faces. Fili patted Thorin’s hand. “If you have to take a nap, you should,” he said.

“We’ll tell Mum and she’ll make sure no one wakes you,” Kili added.

Those boys were too sweet for their own good. Thorin smiled, ruffling their hair as he said, “I’m wide awake. I can’t sleep. I’ve got go onstage in five minutes!”

Fili and Kili bounced in glee. “Play the shark song!” they cried.

“How about I play something else,” Thorin suggested. The shark song was good to entertain the boys, but not for actual people.

The boys looked at one another, their faces scrunched up in thought. Then their eyes grew wide and they turned back to their uncle. “The one that goes ‘baah dummm, baaah dummm’,” Fili exclaimed.

Kili nodded his head vigorously. “Yeah, the one that says, ‘magical mystery pie’,” Kili added.

Thorin had no idea what they were talking about but nodded his head anyway. Maybe he’ll figure it out later. Though he didn’t really know any song with pies in it.

“You ready?” Dori asked, interrupting the family moment, watch held up. “You’re on in five.”

Shit. Right. “I’m good,” Thorin lied.

* * *

Nori sat at his drums, waving happily at the audience. “If you were here last week you’ll see we’ve added some much needed percussion,” he said into his mic. “But without further or do, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bilbo sat up, his eager claps waning slightly as he noticed Bofur winking at him from the bar. He was not infatuated with the musician. He was supporting a local artist, that’s what he was doing.

Oh god, what an artist though.

Thorin shuffled on stage, his dark jeans clinging to his thighs, his thick work boots thudding against the hardwood floor. Bilbo’s mouth only went slightly dry as his muscles rippled under his tight t-shirt, adjusting his guitar strap.

“Evening,” he said into the mic. “So I had a song request from my nephews.” Bilbo clutched at his table, his heart thudding in his chest. He’d seen photos of said nephews just that morning. They were in their school uniforms, making faces at their uncle.

Damn this man.

“They wanted me to sing the… well they call it the Shark Song,” Thorin chuckled, Bilbo along with him. “But that song’s a bit too sophisticated, I think, to be heard by anyone other than an eight year old and his six year old brother. So, I’ll do their other request before they fall asleep on me.”

He looked at Nori and nodded. “This is 40 Day Dream,” he said, before Nori counted down.

 “4… 3… 2…”

A wave of music washed over Bilbo, Nori’s steady beat matching tempo with his violent heart, Thorin singing as carefree as could be, all smiles, nothing like the somber man who played here the week earlier.

“He’s brilliant!” a man said behind Bilbo. He turned in his chair and spotted a well dressed man in a pressed, lavender suit, his white hair immaculately combed. “I just have to convince him to play Greenwood tomorrow,” he muttered.

A tall woman with a sharp nose and curly, auburn hair, squeezed his arm. “I’ll talk him into it,” she reassured him.

Bilbo turned back around, taking in Thorin as he played his last chord, everyone around him clapping.

Who was that woman? He wasn’t married, was he?

“Thank you,” Thorin said. “Also, Nori is amazing and I just wanted you all to take him in. Yes, he slipped me a tenner to say that.”

“Oh god, the jokes,” the woman groaned. “He’s so unfunny.”

“I think he’s funny,” a small dark haired boy said, kneeling in one of the booths, chin resting on the soft cushioned back.

“He played our song,” a blonde boy cheered. “Uncle’s the best.”

The woman smiled. “Yes, he is,” she agreed.

He was totally married, wasn’t he? It’s not like Bilbo had a shot, anyway. Thorin was gorgeous and perfect, and he sang like a god. He was just unnecessarily obsessed.

Not obsessed. He just thought he was a good musician. That’s all.

“This next one’s called Doors to Heaven,” Thorin interrupted his thoughts. “I hope you – ” He stumbled over his words, eyes looking directly at Bilbo.

Oh god. What? What was it.

“Yeah, Uncle!” the blonde boy shouted and Thorin cleared his throat, eyes focused on his mic.

“Thanks, Fili,” he continued. “But yeah, hope you like.”

* * *

“What was that?” Dwalin asked as Thorin shut Erebor in her case.

Thorin refused to meet his eye, patting Nori’s back as he passed. “Great job, Nori.”

“Anytime,” Nori grinned, spinning his drumsticks between his fingers. “Better than sitting back here stewing in my envy.”

Dwalin threw his arm around Thorin’s shoulder and taking the guitar from him. “You got all tongue tied,” he said. “You even flubbed a line.”

“Nerves,” was Thorin’s weak response. “I didn’t psych myself up properly. Where’s Dis?”

He knew Thorin was lying, but Dwalin let him go, pointing towards the exit where Dis was carrying Kili over her shoulder, Fili yawning beside her. “Sorry, let me just – ”

“Take your time,” she said, patting his cheek. “I’ll just get these boys buckled up and meet me in the car, yeah?”

Dwalin had already packed up all his gear, and Nori’s drum kit was staying here, but Thorin needed to check around one more time. He kept telling himself it was to find any missing gear, but he just wanted to see if he could catch a sight of that man.

He had shown himself again, much to Thorin’s delight and horror. It had thrown him off, seeing him there, in that same spot, staring up at him with wide eyes. Luckily the boys were seated near him so he could play it off, but why did he have to come?

Was he making him up? Was he even real? Or maybe he came to the club all the time. Yeah, he was just a regular. Who cares if he had the most beautiful green eyes known to man. And he certainly wasn’t a paying attention to his rosy cheeks and honey curled hair. Nope. Not at all.

“Thorin!” Dori called. Thorin looked up, surprised to see his agent. He was certain he had seen the man leave ages ago.

“You’re still here,” Thorin said.

Dori nodded. “Tomorrow. Greenwood. 8 o’clock.”

“No,” Thorin told him. “I refuse. Thranduil hates me.”

“This is about your career, Thorin!” Dori cried.

“I already have one, thanks,” Thorin said, leaving a disappointed Dori behind as he joined his sister in the car.

“So I was thinking,” Dis said. “You should play at Greenwood.”

Thorin groaned, pressing his hands into his eyes. Maybe if he pressed hard enough he’d wake up and this entire exchange would be a horrible nightmare.

“I refuse, Dis,” Thorin told her. “I’d rather cut off my arm.”

“You’re so over dramatic,” she huffed.

“Just do it,” Dwalin piped in. “Do it so she can stop harassing me at work.”

“I do not!”

“I just want to sleep,” Thorin whined. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Alright? Now shut up.”

“Someone’s in a mood,” Dwalin retorted, but shut his mouth, turning on the radio and letting the night sink in around them.


	6. Boum Boum Boum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin knows French, charms the pants off of Greenwood Lounge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey guys!  
> Have had this chapter on my computer for a week or two, at least the first half. It's accidentally longer than I planned.  
> I've fractured my toe, so I'm off work for a week or so and have nothing better to do but write, so I'll most likely be updated all of my fics. Have updated all the playlists for this fic. :D

“Thranduil.”

“Thorin.”

 Dori eyed both men nervously, Thranduil leaning against the desk in his office, Thorin glaring at him, arms crossed defensively across his chest.

This was not how things were supposed to go.

“Well now that we’re all here,” Dori interrupted, shoving Thorin into a chair, holding his arm so as to stay, smiling up at Thranduil in apology. “Firstly, I’d like to thank you for seeing us.”

“You did insist,” Thranduil drawled, circling his desk and taking his own seat, eyes glued to Thorin’s scowl. “But I’m not sure if I can add Thorin to my schedule on such short notice.”

Dori nodded obligingly. “We did discuss him possibly playing here some weeks ago,” Dori reminded him. “It doesn’t even have to be a long set.”

“As if I’d play my music in this dump,” Thorin muttered, sneering at the flowers and vines engraved into the door panels. Greenwood was as pretentious as music clubs went, choosing only the most “elite” musicians to play, catering to those with a sophisticated ear.

Where Man in the Moon didn’t care if the line up started out with hip hop and the night ended with a rock opera, Greenwood wanted only musicians that could play music one could waltz to, or could sit at a table and drink wine while discussing cheese and Tolstoy.

Honestly Thorin wasn’t sure what they talked about. He wasn’t allowed in places like these, nor did he want to be.

“This dump,” Thranduil enunciated, glaring at the heathen sullying his air, “wouldn’t let you even if you begged. I refuse to have your garbage sully the refined ears of my customers.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. Oh please. “Your customers are begging for something more than a washed up harpist reliving his glory days,” Thorin replied.

Dori looked to the ceiling, begging his maker _why_. He didn’t deserve this. He really didn’t. He was a good man. He paid his taxes, always used his turn signal when driving, he took care of his younger siblings. He was a good man.

“I understand that Thorin’s music isn’t exactly what you’re used to having – ” Dori tried, only for Thranduil to stand up and lean into Thorin’s face.

Oh, dear.

“You think you’re good enough to play at The Greenwood?” Thranduil hissed.

Thorin smirked. “You kidding?”

“Thorin, stop it,” Dori hissed into his ear but was brushed aside as Thorin met Thranduil’s challenge head on.

“You pick the song list,” Thorin said. “If I can’t play them, if I can’t knock your silk socks off then you don’t have to pay me.”

“Now that’s an idea,” Thranduil replied, taking a step back, hands righting his slightly rumpled suit jacket. “You’ve got a deal.”

He held out his hand and Thorin graciously took it, both men squeezing tightly, teeth grit in a challenge.

“How’s your French?” Thranduil asked.

Dori glanced at the decanter filled with wine and wondered if it was too early to start drinking. Heaven knew he needed it.

* * *

Bilbo was in the middle of a piano lesson when his phone pinged with that ever pressing notification that Thorin had made a new tweet and NO he was not going to tell the young girl to continue playing scales so he could check like he did last week. But he did shuffle the girl out of the room twenty minutes later and lunged for his phone, eagerly opening the app to find a picture of a determined looking Thorin holding up a sheet of paper, and giving a thumbs up.

**GREENWOOD. TONIGHT. PREPARE FOR THE UNBELIEVABLE.**

What did that mean?

Bilbo tried to zoom in on the writing, but could only make out a few words. Que … c’est… “Is this French!” Bilbo shrieked at his phone, shaking it angrily, growling in frustration.

_@Oakenshield ARE YOU SINGING IN FRENCH?!?!_

_@Oakenshield paint me like one of your French girls. #swooning_

_@Oakenshield is it wrong to ditch my grandpa’s funeral? NEED TO BE THERE._

_I hope you’re singing la vie in rose! @Oakenshield_

_OMG WHAT TIME??? @Oakenshield_

_That’s only like an hours drive. I’ll see you tonight @Oakenshield_

_@Oakenshield GOD YOU’RE SO HOT. LET ME HAVE YOUR BABIES._

Bilbo stopped scrolling through the replies and took a deep breath. All these young kids with their technology and no one has been able to make out his song list? It all looked so easy in movies. Just click a button and bam!, zoomed in.

But this wasn’t a movie, apparently. Maybe he could just ask?

No. He wasn’t doing that. Because he wasn’t interested.

He reopened the Twitter app and stared at Thorin’s face. He had begun to drift off when his phone pinged once more.

**See you all tonight at 9. I’ll be the guy with the accordion.**

Dear lord have mercy.

“Bifur!” Bilbo shouted, tripping over a music stand as he rushed out of the practice room. His lone worker was playing bongos with a five year old, the child’s parents cooing over her talent. She was clearly a prodigy.

Bilbo smiled politely at them, sidling next to Bifur. “How would you like to go home early tonight?” Bilbo asked, all charm.

“What about inventory?” Bifur asked, hands still playing, barely glancing at his boss as he smiled at the young customer.

“We can do that tomorrow.”

Bifur raised an eyebrow at that. Bilbo wasn’t known for putting off anything tomorrow that could be done today.

“We open later tomorrow anyway,” Bilbo reminded his employee. “I’ll just come in a little earlier.”

It wasn’t Bifur’s place to tell Mr. Baggins what he could and could not do, so he simply nodded his consent, much to Bilbo’s relief. If he wanted to come in at 8 and do inventory, then so be it. Bifur would just come in early as well.

Bilbo patted Bifur on the back. “You know, we’ve got a sale on our percussion instruments,” Bilbo told the cooing parents. “I’m sure your daughter would love to take those bongos home with her.”

* * *

“Je suis un garcon,” Kili repeated to himself as he sat at the kitchen table, feet swinging back and forth. “Je suis un pomme.”

Dis stopped her chopping of onions to look at her son. “What are you saying?” she asked, completely astonished.

“D’accord!” Fili shouted, skipping into the room and climbing into his own chair beside Kili.

“You’re speaking French,” Dis stated. “Why?”

“Uncle Thorin,” they told her.

Of course. Why was she even surprised?

As soon as she got the phone call from Dori she didn’t know whether she wanted to strangle her brother, or kiss him. Why was he so stubborn?

And the list. Heavens, bless her, that list Thranduil gave Thorin. Every damn song on there was in French. Thorin didn’t even know French!

Or she thought he didn’t. Apparently he had taught himself French and never told anyone. What type of person learns a completely different language and then harbors it secret?

Her brother, that’s who. That stupid, idiotic, prideful… honestly she didn’t even know why she bothered with him half the time. If she and Dori were smart, they’d drop him like a hot potato and place their bet on a less stubborn horse.

“Where is he?” Dis asked, pressing a hand to her forehead. She did not have time for this.

Kili shrugged, but Fili answered, “The garage.”

She nodded, placing her knife aside, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I’ll be right back.”

Thorin was frowning at Dwalin when Dis knocked on the garage door. “Tell him he’s being an arse,” Dwalin said.

“You’re being an arse,” Dis told her brother, much to his chagrin. “Why are my children speaking French?”

Thorin grinned. “They wanted to learn.”

“You didn’t teach them bad words, did you?” Dis demanded.

“Seriously,” Thorin said. “You don’t trust me at all, do you? If I wanted to teach them bad words, I wouldn’t do it around here.”

Or anywhere else, for that matter. Thorin was not one to corrupt his nephews minds. They were impressionable enough, the last thing he needed was to accidentally mold them into French speaking hoodlums.

Frerin would.

But… that was neither here nor there.

“You’re interrupting a very important practice,” Thorin said, shoving his guitar into Dwalin’s hands and sitting at the keyboard.

“Why are you doing this? You didn’t even want to play at Greenwood yesterday.”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Thorin mumbled.

This old argument.

Thorin was far too prideful for his own good. Never backing down from a fight, even when all odds were against him. It’s partially why he refused to play more shows, make his music his career. He decided long ago it was just a hobby, and here Dis and Dori were, fighting him tooth and nail just to play a local music club.

Dis just rolled her eyes. “Alright, stand up for your rights. But dinner’s in twenty.”

* * *

Bilbo had never been to Greenwood Lounge before.

He had never had reason to. He was perfectly content spending his musical nights at Bofur’s club. It was an eclectic place where the food was good, the company better, and the music exquisite. What more did he need?

Needless to say Bilbo felt slightly traitorous stepping into Greenwood.

They served a different clientele, but at the end of the day they made business on music. He’d sold a few instruments to Thranduil. He’d sold Legolas his first violin ages ago, so really, it’s not like he was betraying anyone. He knew the owner here just the same as at the Moon.

He had every right to spend a casual evening in Greenwood.

But if he put on a feeble disguise, and hid in the back of the club, well that was his own business. It was unlikely he’d see any familiar faces, but you never truly knew.

Bilbo smiled politely at the waiter that came to his table, ordering a fancy wine he couldn’t pronounce, and waited patiently for the show to begin.

At ten to, Bilbo was on his second glass of wine and considering ordering dinner. He wasn’t sure how much longer he had to wait, though the string quartet playing on stage wasn’t completely terrible. They just weren’t the man he came here to see.

Polite applause filled the club and Bilbo looked up from his menu, realizing that the quartet had finished and a familiar face stepped on stage.

Nori was well dressed, at least compared to the sloppy t-shirts he seemed to wear at the Moon. Wearing navy blue trousers and a tie, he actually looked like a proper member of society. He had even combed his hair in something other than some wild hairdo, long hair pulled back into a ponytail.

He rolled his drumkit on stage, followed closely by a large, bald man, rolling on a piano. Bilbo hadn’t seen him before…

And then, on stepped Thorin, a sleek, chestnut colored guitar in hand. Bilbo felt his heart stutter in his chest. He grinned at Nori, punched the bald man in the arm, and adjusted his microphone.

Bilbo was in far too deep. The sight of the man alone – yes, in tight black trousers that emphasized that perfect arse, and a grey vest that drew Bilbo’s eyes to Thorin’s arms, arms that were exposed from a rolled up shirt, hair immaculately groomed – should not make him this breathless, this excited. He didn’t know the man, for heaven’s sake.

“Bonsoi,” Thorin rumbled into the mic, and Bilbo clutched tighter to his menu. “Welcome to the Greenwood.”

There was a loud cheer throughout the club, and Bilbo realized he wasn’t the only one here to see Thorin. He had a following, a fan base, one that existed long before Bilbo set eyes (or ears) on him. It was slightly disappointing that he had to share Thorin with these strangers.

The rational part of Bilbo’s mind scolded him for being entirely selfish. Thorin had a career in this music. He couldn’t survive without a fan base, and one sad little music shop owner wasn’t going to keep him afloat financially.

“This is a bit of a last minute addition to tonight’s program,” Thorin continued. “And for myself, but tonight we’re going to try something a little different, at least from what I’m used to. I hope you enjoy.”

He nodded at Nori who sat dutifully at his drums, the bald man sitting at the piano, waiting for Thorin to give them the final signal.

* * *

Thorin smirked as finished the first refrain of “Que C’est Triste Venise.” He could feel Thranduil fuming behind the curtains, ears smoking with anger.

It was honestly the most delightful visual, perfect Thranduil standing there, red faced, hands clenched in fists of rage, ready to storm away. Pride was Thranduil’s greatest pride – Dis would argue the same for Thorin – and it was nice to knock the prickly man down a few pegs.

He had truly thought that he could pull a fast one on Thorin, completely unaware that some of the first songs he had ever sung, had taught himself to play, were these French classics his mother was obsessed with.

He was a little rusty, Thorin would give him that, but after a day of rehearsals, it was as simple as breathing.

It was so easy to slip into the French, words sung to him as he was tucked into bed years and years ago; to play the chords that echoed in his mind like a lullaby, the melody nestling in his heart, warming him.

As he finished the song, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes, staring out at his audience. They stared back up at him, their applause barely registering, except for that of a golden haired man sitting the back corner, wiping unhappy tears from his eyes, hiding his sad smile in his wine glass.

“Thank you,” Thorin said dumbly, eyes locked on this mystery man.

He had see him before.

He had been at his last two shows, Thorin was certain of it. Those curls, those eyes, that upturned nose. He was not simply a vision, a delusion of Thorin’s own mind. The man existed.

There was a lingering silence, the audience eagerly awaiting Thorin’s next song while he gazed upon the man.

The man looked up, meeting Thorin’s eyes.

“Thorin,” Dwalin hissed.

Suddenly the world returned to itself, and Thorin cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Right, this next song is by Edith Piaf. A favorite of mine.”

* * *

Bilbo ducked in his seat. Crapper doodles. Thorin had  _seen_ him.

He _looked him in the eye_. They had made _eye contact_. He probably realized that Bilbo was practically _stalking him_.

This was _not_ good. He’d have to change cut his hair, change his name, and move to Nicaragua, just to avoid this embarrassment.

He should have given himself a better disguise than wearing this fancy jacket. Sunglasses, a hat, something! Anything.

Bilbo spent the rest of the show trying to hide his face, hoping Thorin wouldn’t notice him again. But every now and then Bilbo would catch Thorin looking at him, those deep blue eyes pinning him to his seat.

As soon as the show ended, Bilbo rose from his chair and dashed out of the club, too nervous to turn around and find blue eyes watching him leave.


	7. My Love Took Me Down to the River to Silence Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing up with Thorin. He's fine, perfectly fine, and not pining, WHAT, where did you even get that idea? Also, Bilbo's grandparents are the cutest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long wait, sorry guys. I've just been blah. Also, i moved to a new apartment! And I finally have internet! Now i just need to wait for the damn gas company to hook up my stove.   
> I have the next chapter planned out so hopefully it don't take another thirty years for an update.   
> also, i couldn't find one of the songs on my spotify playlist to add to the 8tracks playlist, so know that a song is technically missing and it kills me. :C

Thorin could count on one hand the amount of relationships he had ever been in. He didn’t date, he didn’t socialize, he didn’t do anything that involved talking to strangers aside from the occasional meet and greet after a show. He just… didn’t.

He was a quiet, reserved man. He didn’t know how to string his words together in the presence of a cute face, choosing instead to stutter over his words and inadvertently insult the person.

To quote his sister, he was a hot mess, and that was fine. Thorin knew his faults and he had come to terms with them. He was directionally impaired, he took ten minutes to comprehend a joke, and he was a social idiot. It happened to the best of them.

Only now… well now, Thorin wished he wasn’t a complete and total mess of a human being.

If only he had bolstered the courage to talk to the button nosed man. If only he wasn't a coward, a horrible coward who hid under dramatic lighting and the excuse of reaching out to his fans to avoid the very person he wanted to talk to. 

For a while, Thorin had been certain that he was a figment of his imagination, created by the colored lights and his aching loneliness. Not that he admitted he was lonely.

He had his sister and his nephews; he had his friends and cousins. Thorin was constantly surrounded  by warm bodies, what did he need another for?

He most certainly didn’t need someone to warm his toes at night, to cuddle with under the duvet on cold winter mornings; he didn’t need someone to come home to, to ask about his day, to make him tea in the mornings or for him to make dinner for; he didn’t need someone telling him that his shirt had a hole in it so throw it away, or to remind him to do the shopping when he ran out of milk. Thorin was perfectly content with his life.

But contentment did not make for happiness, and in the secret part of Thorin’s heart, he wanted. He wanted a taste of what his parents had, his sister too; he wanted someone to share his life with, the good and the bad.

Thorin heaved a sigh, chastising himself for having such foolish thoughts. He didn’t even know the man, and already he was planning a life with him.

For all Thorin knew he was one of those stalkerish fans that came to every one of his shows and went backstage to sniff through his trash. That would not make for a good relationship.

So Thorin just had to suck it up and deal. Keep your chin up boy, or you’ll lose it staring at the ground.

* * *

Received from DIS [15:03 PM]:  **Thorin’s been acting weird.**   
  


Replied to DIS [15:03 PM]: **What else is new?**  
  


Received from DIS [15:04 PM]: **I mean WEIRD. Not normal weird. But shifty eyed, suspicious weird.**

Received from DIS [15:04 PM]: **He stood in the kitchen and stared at the kettle for ten minutes.**

Received from DIS [15:04 PM]: **TEN. WHOLE. MINUTES.**

Received from DIS [15:05 PM]: **I thought the thing was going to explode.**  
  


Replied to DIS [15:08 PM]: **Why are you telling me?**  
  


Received from DIS [15:09 PM]: **BECAUSE YOU’RE HIS BEST FRIEND. HE TELLS YOU THINGS.**  
  


Replied to DIS [15:10 PM]: **He really doesn’t. We mostly get drunk and play music.  
**

Replied to DIS [15:10 PM] **Sometimes he complains about you.**  
  


Received from DIS [15:12 PM]: **Men. You’re all useless.**

Received from DIS [15:13 PM]: **What’s he say about me?**

Received from DIS [15:14 PM]: **DWALIN. YOU BETTER ANSWER ME.**

Received from DIS [15:14 PM]: **I’LL TELL DORI ALL ABOUT YOUR LITTLE AFFAIR WITH HIS BROTHER.**  
  


Replied to THE PAIN [15:14 PM]: **My god woman, let a guy make sandwich.**

Replied to THE PAIN [15:15 PM]: **You could just try talking to him.**  
  


Received from THE PAIN [15:16 PM]: **Don’t be ridiculous.**  
  


Replied to THE PAIN [15:20 PM]: **Fine. I’ll TRY talking to him, happy?**  
  


Received from THE PAIN [15:21 PM]: **As a clam :3**

* * *

“So…” Dwalin started at their next rehearsal, Dis’s texts still running through his mind. “What’s new?”

Thorin looked up from where he was tuning his guitar, staring at Dwalin in confusion. He looked behind him, just in case his friend was talking to someone else, but nope, the subject of that sentence was himself.

“Nothing,” Thorin replied, returning to his guitar, thinking that that was the end of the conversation. He and Dwalin weren’t much of talkers. Most of their conversations were of the grunting variety, silent ones through subtle eye movement, or jovial punches and headlocks.

It was how their fathers had communicated, and it was how they communicated. Others didn’t understand, but it worked for them.

Dwalin nodded, scratching at the tattoos on his knuckles. “Really, cause Dis says you’ve been acting funny.”

“Dis needs to mind her own business,” Thorin told him.

“She just worries ‘bout ya,” Dwalin said, throwing himself onto the couch next to Thorin. “She don’t know whether you’re depressed or in love or what, but I had to find out for the sake of your sanity.”

“I’m fine,” Thorin grumbled, hesitating on whether he should actually reveal what was bothering him. He didn't hesitate very long. “I’ve just been stuck on a song, that’s all.”

It wasn't a complete lie.

Dwalin grunted in acknowledgement, the two sitting quietly on the sofa before Dwalin asked, “You need help or…?”

Give the man a problem and he tries to solve it. True friendhsip, right there. “I don’t know what I’m writing about,” Thorin admitted. “That’s the real problem. I don’t know what the damn song’s about, but there’s a melody playing in my head, over and over, and every time I try to make sense of it, it disappears like there was nothing there in the first place.”

Thorin tapped thoughtfully at his guitar, gazing at the dusty piano in the corner. “We should get that old thing tuned,” he murmured, light tinkling notes playing on repeat in his mind. He could nearly grasp it. 

“I’ll ask around,” Dwalin replied, patting him lightly on the shoulder before planting himself behind the drum kit. “We gonna rehearse now or what?”

* * *

Bilbo decided that he wasn’t going to go to next week’s show. He was being… creepy. Yes, that’s the word. Just because he was enthusiastic about Thorin’s music, didn’t mean that the musician saw it that way.

He probably thought Bilbo was some kind of stalker. The kind that dug around in the garbage bins outside the club, collecting his trash for the mosaic in his shrine. It was horrifying.

Bilbo was just a fan, that was all, and if he had to reaffirm this fact to himself by NOT going to a show, well then that was just fine. Bofur was getting suspicious enough as it was, and he couldn’t have Bofur find out he was pining, no matter how much in denial he was in about it. It just wasn’t seemly.

A Baggins didn’t pine, nor did they obsess over an artist. They appreciated from afar, with little to no interaction, allowing their interest to wane into nothing more than a passing fancy.

Besides, if Bilbo went back to the club, Thorin would probably recognize him. And he didn’t need to be recognized. Recognition meant that he could be found and that was the last thing Bilbo wanted. Curse the day Bilbo discovered Thorin Oakenshield.

He was completely content before the man made an appearance. Life was decidedly easier.

“Mr. Bilbo, sir?” Hamfast said, handing over the telephone, hand over the receiver, “It’s your Grandfather.”

Bilbo looked at his shop assistant in surprise but took the phone and said, “Hello? Grandfather?”

“Bilbo, my boy,” Gerontius crowed. “I thought you were dead, or at least forgotten about your old grandfather.”

“I would never – ” Bilbo started before he was interrupted.

That was the trouble with Old Grandpa Took. He was so full of life, one wondered why he was called old at all. “Your grandmother was wondering if you were coming to the party this weekend. You never RSVP’ed, you see, and she’s got herself in a titter over it. You wouldn’t break her heart, would you?”

Good old fashioned guilt. Classic move. “I’ve been busy,” Bilbo managed to stutter. “But I’ll be there. Saturday… right?”

“Is that Bilbo?” Grandmother Adamanta asked, snatching the phone away from her husband and cooing into the receiver, “Bilbo, my buttercup, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Bilbo sighed, attempting to rub away the threatening headache.

“You better be coming this weekend, your grandfather doesn’t turn 93 just any day of the week, you know,” Adamanta scolded him. “I don’t want him to die and his last memory of you is how you refused to come to his birthday party.”

Bilbo stared up at the ceiling for heavenly support. It was always impossible to stop her once she’d gone off on one of her tirades. Between Adamanta and Gerontius, it was any wonder Bilbo hadn’t just closed the shop and moved in with his grandparents, seeing as how they laid the guilt on so thick, Bilbo needed a knife to cut right through it.

“I’ll be there, I promise,” Bilbo told her, just as he heard the phone being snatched back by his grandfather.

There was a bit of a squabble and then: “We’ve got a small dinner on Friday,” Gerontius said. “Only the family we like. So don’t go telling anyone else.”

“I won’t,” Bilbo agreed. Who exactly did they think he was going to tell? Lobelia? Honestly, his grandparents were becoming even more eccentric in their old age. “Wait, you said Friday? As in this Friday?”

“At eight,” Gerontius confirmed.

Damn. “I don’t know if I can make it,” Bilbo tried, only for his grandfather to crow, “I could die any day now. You'd deny a dying man this one request?”

Bilbo felt like smashing his head into a wall. This could hardly be called a conversation, more like a massacre, with Bilbo as the lone survivor, fighting off his grandparent's reproachful comments with a pouty lip and watery eyes. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do," Bilbo relented. "See you then.”

He hung up the phone and dropped his head onto the counter. He was going to miss Thorin’s show. Just because he was theoretically not going, didn't mean he didn't actually want to go. Clearly the universe was out to get him. 

But it was for a good cause.

It was for family. For his grandfather, whom he loved dearly. But it also meant that he was going to spend an entire weekend with his loud, nosy family, and miss Thorin singing with his deep voice, wearing those tight jeans, his long hair falling into his eyes.

Life really was unfair. 


	8. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know. my updates have been non-existant. i'm sorry. take this chapter as an apology. it's like 2.5k, that's gotta mean something, right?

Bilbo should have known better than to trust his Grandfather Took. He would do the same to his father, promising quiet visits and small dinners, only to be bombarded with Tooks of all sizes, eager to laugh and play.

When Bilbo was a child, he adored visiting his Took grandparents, his cousins just as eager to go on adventures in the yard, returning inside just in time for supper, mud caked on their shoes and twigs in their hair. Now, well now Bilbo just felt out of place.

A lone Baggins amongst a plethora of Tooks.

He really should have known better, seeing as Gerontius liked most everyone, especially if they were family.

“There you are,” Esmerelda clucked, finding Bilbo hiding in the upstairs toilet, nursing a bottle of wine. She waddled inside, snatching the bottle from Bilbo’s hand, waving an indignant finger in front of his face. “The nerve of you, drinking while some of us can’t.”

Bilbo huffed, sinking lower onto the tiled floor. “It’s sparkling cider,” Bilbo admitted. The last thing he needed was to get drunk at his grandfather’s birthday dinner. “You won’t harm the baby.”

Esmerelda examined the label, then with a grin, down the entire bottle. She placed a hand on her distended belly – 7 months and three weeks along – rubbing it soothingly. “This child makes me suffer so much, and he’s not even born yet.”

“Is it a boy?” Bilbo asked, thinking of all the recent boys born in his life. Frodo, Sam, and now this little one. He was old. Everyone in his life was getting married and having children and he was hiding in the loo, drinking bubbly apple juice.

“Saradoc seems to think so,” Esmerelda said. “And now Eglantine’s pregnant again” – Bilbo appropriately gasped – “And my brother’s been aiming for a boy for years now, so heaven knows what mischief those two would get into if they both are.”

For one brief moment Bilbo was glad that he didn’t have children. He could barely handle some of his piano students, pawning them off onto Bifur when they got too wild. He preferred children in small quantities in short bursts, partly the reason he was hiding in the loo. The last thing he wanted was to get tackled by dozens of Took nieces and nephews all over again.

“I can’t think of a time Eglantine hasn’t been pregnant,” Bilbo commented, ushering Esmerelda out of the toilet, deciding that it was time for him to face his crazy family. At least now he had some back up.

Esmerelda vigorously nodded her head. “I know!” she exclaimed. “I honestly think my brother has never heard of condoms.”

“What’s a condom?” little Ferdibrand asked, catching them on the stairs.

Bilbo and Esmerlda looked at each other, eyes wide. Oh no. “Did Grandma Adamanta make cherry pie?” Esmerelda asked to distract the child. His eyes lit up and off he ran towards the kitchen, much to the adults’ relief.

“There he is,” Gerontius shouted, coming towards Bilbo with arms wide open, his cane dangling off his wrist.

Bilbo wrapped him in a hug as Esmerelda took that as her cue to abandon him; the traitor. “Grandfather,” Bilbo said as they separated. “Happy birthday.”

Gerontius barked out a laugh as he slammed his cane onto the floor. “Disappointed to see I’m still alive and kicking, eh, my boy?”

“No,” Bilbo denied vehemently. If anything, he’d appreciate it if his grandfather lived forever, and in top form as he was in now, it seemed highly plausible. “I, personally, am very glad that you’re alive and in good health.”

Gerontius snorted, leaning in towards Bilbo and said quietly, “I never trust those who want me alive, Bilbo my lad, most of them tend to be arse kissers.” He then grinned boyishly and led Bilbo towards the large dining room, Tooks of all ages filling every nook and cranny.

The table was overflowing with food, Bilbo was certain that he could hear the old table groaning under the weight. No doubt the legs would snap in two and they’d find that their birthday feast had found a home on the floor.

The soft _ding_ of silver on glass echoed throughout the dining room, silencing the assembled family members. Gerontius smiled at his brood, setting his fork back onto the table.

He cleared his throat and said, “Thank you for joining me on my 93rd birthday. Tonight is just us, tomorrow is when the real party begins. And I want to remind you that if you didn’t bring your present tonight, there will be a giant table underneath the party tree. Now let’s eat.”

* * *

It had taken him an hour to get ready.

Usually, Thorin didn’t care what he looked like when he performed. The audience wasn’t there to see him, only to hear him. At least, that’s what he liked to believe. Dis constantly reminded him that he was an attractive man and that his lackadaisical attitude just drew in more fans.

Apparently leather jackets and too tight jeans were half the reason for his fan base, never knowing that Thorin literally put on whatever smelled clean.  

But tonight Thorin tried. He ironed his shirt. He put on a tie. He actually combed his thick, wavy hair and put it up into a bun.

“You got a date with the queen or something?” Dwalin asked as Thorin slid into his truck.

He knew it. He looked like an idiot. “I’m changing,” Thorin declared, unlocking the truck door, only for Dwalin to automatically lock them again.

“We’re already late,” Dwalin said, putting the truck into drive. “And we still need to pick up Nori.” The last time they were late Nori threatened to leave their little makeshift band. Dwalin may not like Nori all that much, but he was the only one who could actually play percussion and was willing to work with Thorin despite him being an emotionally constipated drama queen.

“I look alright, though, right?” Thorin asked after ten minutes of traffic, the radio silently humming in the background.

Dwalin glanced at him, grunting in affirmation at Thorin’s hopelessness. It seemed that Dis was right after all, though Dwalin should really know better than to doubt Dis, especially when it concerned her brother.

“What’s the occasion then?” Dwalin asked, double parking in front of Nori’s flat and honking the horn. A wave from Nori through his kitchen window let them know he’d be down soon.

Thorin cleared his throat, picking at his seatbelt. Dwalin put the car in park, realizing that maybe this situation needed more than half an ear. He hadn’t seen Thorin like this… well, ever. In the history of their friendship, Thorin never let anything genuinely distract him.

But even at rehearsal, Thorin had this faraway look, one that couldn’t be explained by writer’s block. In all honestly he was acting like – “You in love?” Dwalin asked.

Thorin wasn’t able to answer aside from a nervous splutter as Nori chose that moment to hop into the truck.

“Let’s get a move on,” Nori said, impatiently kicking Dwalin’s seat. “At this rate we’re only gonna have an hour to set up. And I haven’t tested Bof’s new mics.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going.”

* * *

Bilbo was digging into his grandmother’s famous banoffee pie when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He very slowly reached into his pocket, trying to resist bouncing in his seat.

Thorin updated his Instagram and twitter.

He checked both accounts and nearly swooned at Thorin’s nervous smile, his guitar in hand, and… was that a skinny tie? Damn, why did Gerontius have to have his dinner today? A birthday party with the entire town wasn’t good enough for him, he had to hoard their Friday night as well?

Bilbo sighed. He really shouldn’t think such terrible things about his 93 year old grandfather. It made him no better than Lobelia.

“Oooh, who’s that?” Primula asked, peaking over his shoulder as she went for seconds on the pie, Frodo sleeping in her arms.

“Who’s who?” Esmerelda asked, hoisting herself out of her seat, much to Saradoc’s concern. He trailed after her, arms held out as if to catch her. She swatted her husband away, leaning over Bilbo who stuffed his mobile back into his pocket.

“I think it’s Bilbo’s boyfriend,” Primula teased, bumping her hip into Bilbo’s shoulder.

Bilbo could do nothing more than cough in surprise, his pie going down the wrong pipe. Esmerelda gave him good thump on the back, getting the attention of everyone in the room.

“You old dog, Bilbs,” Esmerelda teased. “Is he a looker, Prim?”

“I would leave Drogo for him in a heartbeat,” was Primula’s reply, much to Drogo’s surprise, his “hey!” getting lost to the women’s chuckles.

Bilbo shook his head. “It’s not like that,” he tried, but it was too late, Grandmother Adamanta had heard the words boyfriend and came sniffing like a bloodhound.

“Who’s this man, then?” Adamanta asked, sitting down beside Bilbo, putting on her reading glasses and holding her hand out, silently demanding his phone.

He had no choice; he handed it over.

Primula, Esmerelda, and Adamanta stared at the picture of Thorin, stars beginning to take shape in their eyes. “He’s _gorgeous_ ,” Adamanta exclaimed. “What’s he do for a living then?”

“He’s a musician,” Bilbo muttered, jumping as his grandmother squealed.

“Gerontius!” Adamanta shouted, waving her husband over. “Come look at your grandson’s lover.”

“Grandmother!” Bilbo stuttered, his face going bright scarlet.

Primula patted his head, much like she did to Frodo when he was restless. “He’s unbelievably attractive Bilbo, you shouldn’t be shy. What’s his name, then?”

“Thorin,” Bilbo confessed. “Thorin Durin.”

“Oooh,” Esmerelda giggled. “That’s manly, isn’t it?” Prim nodded her head. “Bet he’s a northerner. He’s got that look about him.”

Bilbo wanted to die. Any second now lighting would strike him down for being a horrible, dirty liar, and he’d willingly go because it was clearly the only painless death being offered.

Before he knew it, his mobile was being passed around to all of his relatives, the women declaring Thorin the hottest piece of ass to ever be seen in the Shire, while the men grudgingly admitted that yes, he was decent to look at, but really Bilbo, did you have to show us all up?

Once the phone reached Gerontius’ hands, it had made its way around the dining room twice, Adamanta asking Bilbo a thousand questions under the sun about his beau. Bilbo could only honestly answer a handful of them.

“Where is he then?” Gerontius asked, squinting at the tiny screen. Esemerelda zoomed in for him and Gerontius stared at Thorin’s picture for a whole minute before he said, “Bilbo, I didn’t know you liked bears.”

Bilbo wished the ground would open up and eat him.

* * *

Thorin straightened his tie for the thousandth time that evening, more nervous than he had ever been in his entire life.

He tried peeking through the curtains, trying to catch a glimpse of the man in the booth, but he didn’t have a decent view, much to his chagrin.

His plan was simple. He’d sing his set, then during his brief break he’d approach the man, ask his name, chat a little bit, then come back to finish his second set, return to the man, ask for his number. Perfect.

He’d obviously change it if necessary, but this was the day he was going to swallow his fear and talk to the man. He chose the perfect songs for tonight, the songs that could best convey how he felt towards that golden haired angel.

“You ready?” Dwalin asked, putting a heavy hand on Thorin’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Thorin replied, grabbing his guitar and taking a deep breath. It was time.

He stepped onto the stage, avoided looking out into the audience, for once glad that the spotlight was too bright. He grinned at Nori and nodded, figuring that at this point, introductions were pointless, and if he didn’t get his fingers strumming he’d choke on his words and ruin the night.

He simply needed to find his courage.

“Evening,” Thorin said once he finished his second song, his confidence up in spades. “I hope we’re doing well tonight.”

He grinned and decided that he’d look for him now, the stranger that plagued his dreams. Thorin squinted past the spotlight and at the man’s usual booth.

“Thorin,” Dwalin hissed behind him, silence permeating the room for an uncomfortable minute. “What’s wrong?”

Nori pulled the mint out of his mouth and threw it at Thorin, the candy bouncing off his back. “Oi, Durin.”

Thorin suddenly snapped upward, muttering, “excuse me,” to the audience before shuffling towards Nori and Dwalin.

“Change of plans,” Thorin told them. “The Lonely Mountains.”

“We haven’t rehearsed that one,” Nori argued. “What’s wrong with Kiss Me Darlin’?”

“Change of plans,” Thorin repeated, turning back to his mic, a fake smile plastered on his face. Nori and Dwalin shared a look. This wasn’t good. Thorin never deviated from the rehearsed sets. Ever.

* * *

Thorin locked himself in Dwalin’s car, thumping his head against the glovebox.

He was an idiot. A complete fool. A total moron. For all he knew, the man really was a figment of his imagination.

And he had planned an entire night of love songs for him. “I’m so stupid,” Thorin muttered, pulling his hair out of the bun, letting it flow around his face, wisps getting in his eyes as he continued his breakdown.

The man wasn’t there. He wasn’t in his booth. Instead there were a bunch of hipster chicks with too much makeup giving him googly eyes.

“You okay?”

Thorin groaned and shook his head. “I’m an idiot,” he said, loud enough for Dis to hear through the closed windows. He refused to look at her. If he did she’d be giving him those sad eyes, the ones that made him feel like a three year old instead of the grown man he was.

“I know that,” Dis joked, before sobering. “You want a hug or something? I’ve got two sleepy boys who’d love to hug you.”

Thorin sat up and took a deep breath. It was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. He exhaled.

Everything was fine.


	9. Waiting Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's the start of a festival and Bilbo is not obsessed, neither is Thorin, and hopefully no one will realize just how in love with each other they are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What up my peeps.  
> So sorry for the super long wait for an update. I had this chapter written in my head for ages, and I know what's happening next chapter so hopefully it's not as long of a wait for an update.  
> I'm going to go back and add a list of all the songs (and links) just for those who don't want to go on 8tracks or spotify for the playlist (but also so you know what song's playing where and when, dig?)  
> My life looks like it might be headed in a different direction soon, and I just want to thank all of y'all that have stuck around despite my inconsistent updating and lack of comment responses. Whether it's here or on tumblr, you all are the best!  
> I'm going to try and update as often as possible, and even my "abandoned" fics will soon find life. it's all about finding time and i have none. which is why updating is such an effort.  
> BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME.  
> I wrote about 2k words for y'all! Hopefully it was worth the wait. :D

By trade, Dori was a realtor. He was one of the best in Dale, so good, in fact, that a house need only be under Dori's caring hands for a few days, before it found itself off the market.

He was, to put it simply, good at selling things. He could sell a run down house as a great investment without batting an eye. And when Thorinhad just begun to play professionally, Dori had been able to sell his music to night clubs and lounges; he was able to convince them to back this musician, despite knowing nothing about him aside from a name and a poorly recorded demo.

It had been a long fought battle with Thorin, insisting that what he needed was to get his music out there, not bottled up inside, its sole audience his young nephews. He had the talent and skill, it was simply unfair to let it rot. Selling  Thorin was easy, particularly with Dis' help; it was selling the idea _to_  Thorin that had always been tough.

He was Dori's most difficult customer. Until now. 

Now, Thorin was practically begging for new gigs, calling up Dori every other day or so, asking for an update on his schedule, wondering if maybe they could squeeze in some extra shows somewhere. His enthusiasm was catching, and he couldn't wait to let Thorin know that they'd been moved from Stage C to Stage A at the Dale Music Festival this weekend. 

Dori had had to fight Thorin tooth and nail to get him to agree to play the Festival, but now with Thorin in good spirits, he knew that this was their moment. Thorin would get noticed, and before you could say, "I told you so," he'll be signing a record deal and Dori would have that place of honor as the man who discovered him. 

Also getting 20 percent of his cut for being his manager. 

There was a knock on Dori's office door and he absently shouted for the person to enter, already grabbing the phone on his desk to ring Thorin, only to drop the receiver upon seeing Gandalf Grey standing in the doorway. He was just as Dori remembered him: tall, hair impossibly white, handsome as can be.

Dori hated it.

"Good afternoon, my old friend," Gandalf smiled, pulling up a chair and sitting. Very rudely, Dori thought, frowning at his unwanted guest. "You look as lovely as usual," Gandalf continued, grinning, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. 

Dori knew that look. He hated that look. It was that look that made him put his foot down and decide that a romantic relationship between them would only lead to further heartbreak and ruin. He had had enough on his plate with his darling Ori and troublesome Nori. "Whatever you're after, you're not getting it from me," Dori told him, sniffing imperiously.

He was not going to fall for a pretty face. He was strong. He was independent. Gandalf couldn't just waltz into Dori's life whenever he pleased and then proceed to walk all over him. No sir. 

"You wound me," Gandalf replied, putting out his hand and placing it on Dori's. Dori looked down at their joined hands with a frown. "I can't come say hello to an old friend?"

Dori remembered exactly what happened last time Gandalf came to "visit an old friend," and he vowed then, never again. 

"No," Dori told him, grabbing at random papers on his desk to look occupied. "If you don't mind, I'm terribly busy at the moment."

Gandalf seemed to smile wider, aware that Dori was doing nothing more than wasting time. Why had he ever found the man attractive? His mystery was just annoying. Dori supposed hindsight really was 20/20.

"How is Thorin?" Gandalf asked after a brief silence, pointing his head in the direction of the flyer pinned to Dori's cork-board, between a store front and a two bedroom flat. It was the one with a picture of Thorin reminiscent of a Bruce Springsteen album. "I hear he's playing at Bofur's place."

"You heard correctly," Dori harrumphed, "No thanks to you."

"My help would have been nothing more than a hindrance," Gandalf said, this argument an old and familiar one. "And now look at him, you've done a fantastic job as his manager."

He really had. Gandalf had had the contacts, but Dori had the drive, the dream, and no patience for a stubborn partner who refused to ease his and Thorin's way in the music biz. Apparently, doing it from the bottom up built character, or some nonsense. 

Well, Dori had plenty of character, thanks to Gandalf, and he was just starting to make a name of Thorin in this town. Very soon it'd be the whole damn country and world, and when that happened, he'd rub it in Gandalf's handsome face.

"I'm quite proud of you," Gandalf decided to say, bristling Dori to the core. That smooth talking rat!

"I really am busy, Mr. Grey," Dori announced, his chair scraping against the linoleum tile as he stood. "It would bring me great pleasure if you left me to do my job."

The outburst certainly surprised Gandalf, though Dori wasn't sure if it was the use of his last name, rather than his attitude that put that stunned look on the older man's face. 

That should teach him to waltz into Dori's office as if he hadn't been gone for a year without so much as a peep. They might still be friends, but Dori couldn't ignore the torch he had for the man. Sometimes it was easier to quell the flame than to add fuel to the fire.

* * *

Three  weeks.

Thorin was certain that he was going mad. Three whole weeks had passed and the man wasn't at any of his shows. It was as if he had disappeared off the face of the planet.

There was a cruel voice in his head that said that he had grown tired of Thorin. That his music wasn't good enough  to keep him around, that he was untalented and unwanted. Everyone was simply lying to him. 

Thorin may not think much of his music career, but he refused to acknowledge those doubts. He was good at music, very good. Just because he wasn't a professional, playing sold out shows in concert halls, traveling the world, didn't mean he was bad. 

He simply didn't care for that lifestyle, not when his family was here in Dale, his little shop doing as well as he could hope. He had a home here, a real, true home, not built from rotted wood and rusted nails, a foundation of sand. 

Thorin had tried to forget about him, push him out of his mind, but it was impossible. He was his muse, a melody playing whenever he thought of the man. He needed to see him again, if only to learn his name, to know that he  wasn't imaginary. 

Somehow, the man had weaseled his way into Thorin's heart, and if he had to play every damn gig that came his way, he'd do it. Dori was bound to become suspicious, but until he found the man again, he'd have to risk it.

* * *

"You know how Picasso had a blue period," Dis said as she shoved past Dwalin once he'd opened his front door, ignoring his glare, "Thorin's having his. "

"Hallo to you too," Dwalin grumbled, slamming the door shut and clearing his throat, reminding her about the no shoes policy. He just vacuumed and heaven help whoever dirtied up his carpet. 

Dis obliged with a grumble, throwing herself onto his couch. "He's depressed," she continued.

Dwalin refused to sigh. He'd been sighing for weeks now, Thorin completely obsessed with playing nearly every night, not giving a care that his back up musicians also had jobs and social lives, and didn't have the age or stamina to play music every damn day. 

He sat down in his armchair, ignoring the way she impatiently watched him. "Why do you think that?" Dwalin asked, taking the bait.

Dis simply raised a brow. He frowned, cursing the day he ever met Thorin Durin and his nosy sister. Why couldn't she just talk to her brother about these things instead of bothering him at all hours of the day. Just because he was the man's best friend didn't make him an expert. 

But then again, Thorin had been playing sad music, lately. Slow, melancholic tunes about lost lovers, unrequited love, and being alone forever  - even the upbeat ones had sad lyrics .

Now that it was brought up - well, there was something clearly wrong with Thorin. 

"I need you to find out what's going on in that thick skull of his," Dis told him. "Before I kill him."

"Fine," Dwalin agreed, if only so the woman would leave. 

* * *

The Dale Music Festival happened every spring, the date varying year to year, but usually during the last few weeks of May, slipping into the first week of June. It was the city's way of celebrating their large and eclectic community of musicians. They showcased those artists who had made it big, to mere local celebrities, to kids playing music out of their garage. 

They got a large turnout every year, the city and its neighboring towns pouring into Esgaroth Park to hear their favorite musicians, and finding new ones. It had grown in the years, and what was once a free festival, now charged a minimal fee, sponsors covering most of the cost. 

Bilbo went every year, rain or shine. It had been his favorite place as a child, the days counting down to the festival marked on his father's calendar with red crosses. With his parents gone, Bilbo felt their presence there all the more. 

He could still hear his father humming along with the songs, his mother putting him on her hip so they could properly waltz. He had asked, once, why his mother never played at the festival, and she just laughed and kissed his nose. She wasn't a musician anymore, she'd say, and she'd hate to be up there and mess up in front of hundreds of people. 

He never quite believed her.

Bilbo woke up late the first day of the festival, his shop closed for the weekend, buried under a light quilt, his grumbling stomach still a minor reminder that he had yet to have breakfast. He enjoyed sleeping in, taking in the sounds of the waking city, the anticipation of the festival buzzing in the air. 

Not that he could stay in bed all day. The festival started at five, people allowed into the performance area at four, the food stands open since noon; Bilbo had his own little tent, handing out flyers and cheap tambourines with  _The High Note _ printed on them. 

He always got a flood of customers the week following the festival, young children and adults suddenly filled with the passion to pick up an instrument, or dust off their old pipes, and create music of their own. By having a place in the festival, it squared away those customers, drawing them in and planting the idea early on.

By the time he made it to his tented stand, it was half past three, Hamfast and Bifur already there, their stand set up and flyers with their shop name and information about classes already circulating. 

"There you are," Hamfast greeted, sitting down in a plastic chair, his face red from standing in the sun. "I was about to send Bifur to get you."

Bifur waved, distracted by a child who was trying to grab a tambourine from off their table. 

"Sorry," Bilbo said, handing over his bag, laden with snacks. "Had to make sure we don't starve. Who's playing today?"   


Hamfast tore into the bag, unwrapping one of Bilbo's sandwiches. He handed over the Festival program as he took a bite, closing his eyes and letting out a pleased moan. His boss certainly knew how to make a sandwich. 

Bilbo rolled his eyes, but sunk into his own plastic seat, perusing the list. It had the usual bands and singers, ones that had gone off to make a name for themselves, like that weird band, Morgoth something or other. 

There were new names too, like Bard Bowman, that musician that played at Greenwood's and even - Bilbo set down the program and took a deep breath. 

Stage A. 6 o'clock. Saturday night. Thorin Oakenshield .

Damn.

Though he had only recently discovered Thorin, through his research he had learned that Thorin had been playing in and out of Dale for years, and in all that time, he had never played at the Festival. Bilbo knew that for a fact.

Why had he decided to play it this year?

He had managed to hide his infatuation from his friends, but with Thorin playing on that stage, Bilbo didn't know how he could avoid looking completely smitten. He could just not listen to him play, but that wasn't an actual option.   


Bilbo had already missed three weeks worth of performances - he most certainly wasn't going to make it a fourth.  He just had to make sure his crew was properly distracted once Thorin got on stage. 

The less people knew about his thing for Thorin, the better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Waiting Here by Jake Isaac](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYbWB0iZW7Q)  
> [Forever Alone by Kakkmaddafakka](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5N1Wip3tEs8)  
> [Pale Blue Eyes by The Velvet Underground](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NcDuR9BF0Oc)  
> [High by Young Rising Sons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeQTnbwlVgM) [ (bonus Acoustic version)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqWY__RElW4)  
> [If You Could Read My Mind by Gordon Lightfoot](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5tr_L31StI)


	10. I Will Do the Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dale Music Festival commences!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist at the bottom! :) ENJOY

Thorin took a deep breath in an attempt to center himself, to calm his nerves and find that place within him that would help him get through a 2 hour long performance in front of nearly 500 people.

“You look sick, Uncle,” Fili said, looking up at Thorin with concern.

Nope, he wasn’t there yet. Thorin opened his eyes to glower down at his nephew who smiled up at him. “I’m fine,” Thorin reassured him, but Fili clearly didn’t believe him. Thorin rolled his eyes, ruffling his blond locks and tried to ignore the sound of a screaming crowd.

Theoretically he knew that there would be a huge audience. It was the Dale Music Festival; it drew in thousands. It was partly the reason he had avoided the festival until now. His stage fright could be managed with a small crowd.

He had never played to an audience larger than a hundred people. But tonight, he was the main attraction. He had the prime time, the main stage, a headliner; he was the show on a Saturday night and Thorin couldn’t breathe.

Why was he so stupid to accept this gig? He thought he had been over this crippling fear, but apparently not. He still flashed back to when he was 17 and Gandalf had forced him to play in front of his friends. He had choked then, just as he was now.

A firm hand squeezed his shoulder and Thorin felt all the air leave his lungs, his shaking knees wobbling under the force of touch. “Stop your worrying,” Dwalin grunted. “You’ll be fine.”

He was not going to be fine. He was pretty positive he was going to throw up. “Don’t vomit,” Dis demanded, sticking her polished nail into his face. “You’re a professional.”

“I’m not,” Thorin insisted, searching for a chair. He just needed to sit down a moment. Sit down and breathe into a paper bag for three hours. “I make chairs and tables for a living, I am not a professional.”

“You could at least pretend to be,” Dis grumbled.

Fili and Kili were huddled together, in conference, before they both nodded at one another, carefully approaching their uncle with determined faces. “Here,” Kili said, handing over a plastic tambourine, the instrument looking tiny in Thorin’s hands.

“What’s this?” Thorin asked, turning the tambourine over, _The High Note_ , printed in bright blue on the drum.

“For good luck,” Fili explained. “We got it for signing up for music lessons.”

Kili nodded, jumping in with, “We’re gonna learn to play guitar like you.”

Thorin shook the cheap tambourine, letting the ringing of the zils drown out all of the unnecessary sound. He could do this. He looked at his bright eyed nephews and chuckled, remembering that first guitar his father had given him.

Those rascals looked up to him, and him panicking over something as silly as a larger audience than normal wasn’t going to paint him in a good light. He’d just have to picture them all in their underwear, or some such. He could do this.

“I can do this,” he said, his nephews cheering at the proclamation.

“You done freaking out?” Nori asked, twirling his drumsticks between his fingers, watching as the band before them finished their set, taking their bows and milking the crowd for what they were worth.

They had about a half hour to set up their equipment, and for the audience to disperse and their actual fans to show up. Nori knew it was the waiting game that played havoc on Thorin’s nerves. The sooner he got out there, the better they’d all be.

Thorin nodded as he stood, doing his pre-show warm ups, Nori and Dwalin directing the volunteers on their preferred set up. They had only been given one rehearsal, and even then they weren’t allowed to play for too long, simply giving the engineers an idea of how they should sound, nothing more, nothing less.

* * *

Bilbo had managed to score a decent spot in the middle of the crowd. With his height and the amount of people packed before a makeshift stage, it was impossible to find a truly  _good_ spot, but he could just make out the microphone, which was good enough for him.

He waved over at Bofur who was leading his brother and cousin through the swarm of people fighting for their own decent spot. It was nearing six, and they didn’t want to get stuck in the back, as far from Thorin Oakenshield as possible.

Bilbo wasn’t sure how Bofur had convinced him to tag along, but somehow he had. He should have known better than to pretend that he didn’t care that Thorin was playing. Bofur was no dummy, and it seemed to be an unspoken game between them not to comment on his so obvious crush.

At the very least, Bilbo wouldn’t get shoved around now. Not when he had Bombur to his left, bumping everyone aside with his girth, and Bifur on his right, frightening everyone else with his glare. He had been cocooned by his friends, much to his relief.

“Let’s hope he livens things up a bit, yeah?” Bofur said, as he checked his watch. “You haven’t been around, but he’s been a right drag, he has.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows in surprise. Every show he’d ever gone to, Thorin had made each performance fun and unique. He rarely played the same songs, changing his set weekly. Of course, he hadn’t been to a few of his shows, but that couldn’t be avoided.

That first missed show, he had gone to visit his grandparents, and that was the only show he had planned on missing. But then that following Thursday, little Daisy had come in for her lesson with a sniffle, sneezing all over the piano, and the next morning he had been stuck in bed with a horrible cold.

He had tried to roll out of bed, but he had the shakes and shivers and could hardly breathe, that could he actually make it to _Man In The Moon,_ he would just infect everyone. Not to mention Thorin might actually _see_ him be an absolute fright. That settled that quite easily.

Last week, Prim and Drogo were in desperate need of some rest, and begged Bilbo to watch Frodo for the weekend.

Bilbo wasn’t particularly good with children, especially infants, but he could hear just how frazzled his cousin was, and swallowed his pride and babysat. It wasn’t too terrible, though Bilbo confirmed his earlier affirmation that he would never have children.

They were too messy, too loud, too much all at once. A child for an hour or so was a simple task; a child for any longer was akin to doing battle with an orc. He was simply not cut out for that lifestyle.

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked, craning his neck to see past the huge beast of a man who chose to stand in front of him. The nerve of some people!

“You don’t really know him,” Bofur said, “But he’s always been right…”

“Broody,” Bifur provided, much to Bofur’s delight.

“That’s it,” Bofur crowed, planting a wet kiss on his cousin’s cheek. “But now it’s all whimpering love songs, like a lass whose lost her bonnie love.”

Thorin didn’t seem to changed, based off of his Twitter and Instragram, but it’s not like Bilbo actually knew him, not like Bofur did. Bofur actually spoke to him, not imaginary interactions in his daydreams.

He was such a sad, little man.

The tall man in front of Bilbo seemed to have equally large friends, much to Bilbo’s dismay. He checked the time, and it was five past six. So much for choosing a decent spot.

He was about to tap the man’s shoulder, when Nori walked on stage, waving at the screaming audience, Dwalin behind him.

Damn, Bilbo thought, there was no way he was going to enjoy the show like this.

* * *

He could hear their screams, their applause; he just had to breathe.

“You can do it, Uncle,” Fili and Kili chirped, shaking their tambourines in emphasis, having gotten their prize back, Thorin declaring that all he needed was a hug from them both to carry him on stage.

Right. To war.

He walked on stage, Orcrist slung over his shoulder, waving at his audience, a giant smile on his face. He knew somewhere out there, Dori and Dis were recording his performance, and if he frowned even once, Dis threatened to cut off all of his hair.

He looked back at Nori and grinned, nodding at Dwalin. Just like they had rehearsed.

The audience cheered as he sang the opening lines to _Kathleen_ , his fake smile gaining enthusiasm, feeding off the energy of his fans. This was really what made performing worth something. It was very much a give and take, audience and musician fueling each other.

It was as he was partway through his second song that he spotted him.

The sun was setting behind the stage, but slivers of light snuck through, catching on the man’s curls. Thorin would recognize those deep hazel eyes, that funny upturn of his nose, the way he smiled and bobbed his head to the music. He looked taller, much taller than Thorin could recall, nearly a full head over the crowd.

He continued the song robotically, squinting his eyes in hopes that he could get a better look, see the man clearer – curse him for choosing now of all times to come to his show, to be seen – suddenly be blessed with X-ray vision and read the man, inside and out.

The song slowly trickled off, Thorin simply standing on stage, eyes boring into the stranger.

“Thorin,” Dwalin hissed, chucking a guitar pick at his head. “What are ya doing?”

Nori clanged his cymbals and Thorin inhaled sharply, the world coming into shape around him. He looked back at his friends with a shrug.

“Sorry,” Thorin said into the mic. “I was boring myself. You were all bored, right?”

The audience shouted their disagreement, the man shaking his head vigorously, cupping his hands around his mouth and screaming, “No!”

Thorin cleared his throat, turning back to Nori and said, “Change in plans, you remember _You’re Beautiful_?”

Nori gaped, but nodded, whispering the instruction to Dwalin. He looked perfectly murderous, and Thorin knew that if they weren’t on stage right now, he’d cuff him a good one. He’d most likely get it the moment the show ended.

It’d be completely worth it though.

“I think you’ll all know this one,” Thorin said, boring his deep blue eyes at the stranger. _Get my message,_ he willed over to him. _Notice me. Notice me._

* * *

At first, Bilbo thought it was just his imagination. It had to be. It was the only reason Thorin could be staring right at him. True, Bofur had let him sit on his shoulders, so he had a good head over everyone else, even those tall brutes blocking his view, but so were so many people.

He was probably looking at something else. A tree… or someone else entirely.

But then he started singing _You’re Beautiful_ while staring at Bilbo, even when Bofur had moved a few feet to the left, Thorin’s eyes were on him.

Oh dear. It just couldn’t be. But then another love song was played and Thorin’s eye line didn’t budge.

Thorin was singing _to_ him. Or at him. At least in his general direction. And that was impossible, improbable, completely incomprehensible. Bilbo was nothing – no one.

It was possible that Thorin had noticed him at his other gigs, and if he was trying to make Bilbo as uncomfortable as he was clearly making the singer, then message received. It was completely embarrassing.

Except they were love songs. Sappy, romantic lyrics, directed at Bilbo. That couldn’t be faked. If he was truly disgusted by Bilbo’s obsession (at this point, it was no use pretending otherwise), then he certainly wouldn’t be trying to woo him.

Because Bilbo was wooed. He was practically swooning. Only Bofur’s rough hands clutching his thighs kept him upright.

And what if Thorin thought he and Bofur were something! Could he even see Bofur from so far away? This just wouldn’t do! Bilbo nearly toppled over and he noticed Thorin stepping forward slightly, as if he could catch him and that made it official. Thorin _really_ was staring at him.

Bilbo could feel a blush slowly working its way up his ears.

“Our night’s coming to an end,” Thorin breathed into the mic (Bilbo could only swallow – that man was going to be the death of him), “and I just want to say, you’ve all been _Wonderful Tonight_.”

Still, Thorin had only eyes for Bilbo, his sonorous voice echoing in his head, vibrating his blood; Bilbo felt on fire, aflame with the heat of Thorin’s stare. It was as if the man had planned this.

* * *

Thorin rushed off stage, energized and as pleased as punch. There was no way the man couldn’t know. If he was lucky, and Thorin was feeling very lucky, he’d be able to catch the man before he left.

“What the hell was that?” Dwalin asked, grabbing Thorin’s arm.

“Get off,” Thorin demanded, prying off his fingers and heading towards the lawn. He needed to talk to the man before it was too late, before he suddenly deciding to disappear all over again.

Dwalin held his ground, blocking his exit, arms crossed, brows furrowed. “I’ve given you your space,” he said. “I’ve let you daydream through shows, switch songs on me – Let you force me to play nightly for weeks.”

“And I appreciate it,” Thorin commented, attempting to get around him. “But I need to go.”

“No,” Dwalin told him, shoving a fat finger in Thorin’s face. “You’re staying here; I don’t care what your reason.”

“Dwalin!”

“Dori’s bringing a reporter, don’t you forget,” Dwalin reminded him, pushing Thorin into a chair.

It was unfair. He was finally so close, and now his best friend refused to let him go. The gods hated him.

“It’s imperative that I be allowed to leave,” Thorin said.

Dwalin raised a brow, interest piqued, but not so much that he’d let Thorin walk all over him. Damn.

“There he is,” Dori chirped as he stepped into Thorin’s prison, a tall, beast of a man trailing behind him. “Beorn, this is Thorin. He writes for The Dale Gazette.”

“Charmed,” Thorin said through clenched teeth. He was not getting away now, that was certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> List of songs!  
> [I Will Do the Breathing by Matt the Electrician](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIQSjArUFUg)  
> [Kathleen by Josh Ritter (live version at Vicar Street)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DuhrJjwhdNs)  
> [Gravity by Sara Bareilles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c9-IYhGEoQ)  
> [You're Beautiful by James Blunt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzocxPC8wVQ)  
> [Only Love by Ben Howard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OWlKZ6C7cDY)  
> [Stubborn Love by The Lumineers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJWk_KNbDHo)  
> [Me and Bobby McGee by Janis Joplin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXV_QjenbDw)  
> [The Way We Move by Langhorne Slim & the Law](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KEv3rbNJuE)  
> [Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jO0AafaCN4E)
> 
> (it's a long list this time, mainly because i wanted a slice of the songs he played. this is why it was so hard to choose b/c i wanted him to play all of the songs)


	11. Interlude - The Man Behind the Guitar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BEORN'S ARTICLE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DrQRS40OKNE)   
>  [First by Cold War Kids](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZzJ78FWjl8)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I love news articles, okay? I love writing them. And if I had some type of photoshop skills (or art skills in general) I would have made this into an actual news article. As it is, you get the written version. (honestly if i could art i would art everything i've ever written. i would art my stories from kindergarten)

Thorin Oakenshield: The Man Behind the Guitar

by Beorn Mahon

 

As I wait to meet Thorin Oakenshield one thing is clear, he knows how to play a show.

With his easy going nature and, rather admittedly, tacky jokes, he plays the crowd as well as his guitar.

It's a surprise then to learn this is his first time playing the Dale Music Festival. He takes to the stage like a fish to water, fueling his audience's enthusiasm by communicating to them, as if giving an intimate performance, an personal conversation.

Thorin admits that he suffers from stage fright, but "when I’m up there, you have to forget that there's hundreds of eyes on you. It would drive me mad otherwise."

He's a bit rough around the edges, speaking in a gruff baritone, and giving a perpetual scowl which his sister reassures me isn't personal.

"He's grumpy and moody and likes to think he's mean, but he's a real softie," she explains as Thorin's nephews swarm him, jumping on his shoulders, lauding his performance. I’m informed that they're almost always at all of his gigs, and it’s clear to see why.

The boys transform Thorin into more of that character on stage. That ease and comfort must be worked at, and his nephews make it less of a chore.

Our introduction is rushed and he clearly wasn't expecting to be interviewed, but he stands firm, arms crossed, his blue eyes scrutinizing me. I refuse to be cowed which seems to elevate me in his esteem, allowing me some of his time.

"Dori - my manager - has been begging me to play Dale for ages. He would get through the process and I'd call it off. But this year – " Thorin pauses, head tilted, grinning – “This year I figured why not. What's the worst that could happen?"

"You did stop playing mid-song," I remind him.

Thorin chuckles, scratching his bearded chin, shrugging his shoulders. "I kind of lost the enthusiasm for it. I was bored. I just got up there and I was bored! Clearly I had to change things up, I needed something to ebb the fear that everyone else would get bored and walk away."

He says he has a low self-esteem, but to that he explains, "I was never going to be a musician. I still don’t think of myself as one. That’s probably why I get nervous before a show: they’re all going to realize it too."

Thorin is by trade, a carpenter. He owns a little shop in town, making chairs, tables, cribs, etc, by commission. He refused to say the name of it, afraid he'd get customers wanting to bask in his local fame.

He showed me his favorite piece – a picture saved on his mobile – a rocking chair he made for his sister when his eldest nephew was born.

I ask him how he got into music, seeing how devoted he is to his trade. He lights up, and this is perhaps the most animated I’ve seen him.

"My Da gave me a guitar for my fifteenth birthday," Thorin says. "I don’t know where he even got it or why he bought it. It was this beat up thing, he probably bought it at a pawn shop. But for a teenager, I was thrilled. I showed Dwalin and right away we came up with a band name. We would sit in his room, teaching ourselves how to play. We wanted nothing more than to emulate The Smiths."

He laughs, "Bit telling of my age, isn’t it?"

Dwalin Fundinson is Thorin’s best friend, who happens to work at his shop, as well as joining him on stage along with Nori Rivers. They’ve known each other since childhood, and he stands beside Thorin, glaring at me. To this story, he simply grunts his approval. It’s clear he’s a man of few words.

"We were excited about it and that’s when we realized we'd benefit from formal instruction."

He and Dwalin had then met Gandalf, legendary producer, back when he owned a small music shop during the 80s.

"We were dead poor, but he agreed to teach us if we worked in the shop. We agreed."

Thorin worked there throughout his teenage years, Dwalin given up after the first summer. This is where the story gets hazy, Thorin passing over years to the birth of his golden haired nephew, Fili.

"Dis would have me babysit him, and I was hopeless at it, but I’d make up songs for him. One day I found my old guitar and played him a song. He stopped crying immediately."

He continued playing since then, citing "everyone needs a hobby" as his reason.

I ask him if we'll get an album, or another EP. He just shrugs. "I write a song a year, if I’m lucky. When I was young I would fill notebooks in days, but nowadays it’s harder. I look through those old journals and it’s like I don’t know that young man. I’m not the same, I’ve grown, and I could only imagine what that version of me was thinking when he wrote half of those songs.”

It’s obvious he thinks they’re all bad. It’s then that his nephews complain that they’re tired and he asks if that’s all the questions for tonight. I assure him it is but ask for a photo, to which he agrees.

He’s stiff, refusing to look into the camera, but I know now it’s not aloofness, but his natural shyness. It seems that his sister was right. Thorin is, in fact, a big softie.

Thorin’s EP _Misty Mountains_ can be purchased on iTunes and local retailers. You can follow him on Twitter and Instagram @Oakenshield, as well as on Facebook and YouTube. He plays every Friday at 9 PM at Man in the Moon Lounge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to say, if you feel like Beorn feels out of character, I wanna say that this is merely a news article. I imagine that his previous edits of this article were unflattering, and plain rude. Just because he didn't like Thorin, doesn't mean that other people don't. They need him painted him in a good light, and Beorn would begrudgingly admit that interviewing Thorin was much better than interviewing any of the members of death metal band The Gundabad Orcs. You really have to pick your battles, especially when you're already on thin ice with the newspaper, your editor doesn't like you, and this is your last shot to prove that you're a valuable member of the team.  
> (can you tell that I did a lot of unnecessary backstory on Beorn? He's in this for like five seconds, calm yourself Beorn, I need to focus on getting TWO IDIOTS TO MAKE OUT ALREADY)  
> (cries because thorin is an awkward potato who must be protected at all costs)


	12. Slow Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do thEY MEET?!?! nO. they do not :C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey guys! Managed to update before the end of the year! HA HA! (it's almost year of this fic. i cannot believe it.)  
> Uh... ten points if you can guess what happens next ch (also sorry for never responding w/ comments. i just... am a horrible human being. but i read them and appreciate them)  
> ALSO! Radio made me great folksinger!thorin art for ma birthday (like 2 weeks ago but w/e) which you can [see here!!](http://andquitefrankly.tumblr.com/post/135098978740/radiorcrist-because-a-nice-relaxed-domestic)  
> I'll try to update soon. i'm super looking forward to the next chapter. i am sitting here cackling to myself just thinking about it.

“I thought he hated me,” was the first thing Thorin said as he set down the newspaper opened to the lifestyle section where a picture of him looking off camera, hands stuffed into his pockets, lived front and center.

Beorn was the sort of man who didn’t hide his dislike. Thorin and he had squared off right away, and nearly everyone there was sure that the article would turn out less than lackluster. This was actually quite a nice surprise.

Though Thorin wasn’t sure that he appreciated being described as awkward, shy, a softie, and old. It hardly painted him in that good of a light.

“He does,” Dis reassured him. “But Dori says that if he hadn’t written a good article he’d be out of a job.”

No wonder they got the guy to interview him. It was the only guarantee that Thorin wouldn’t come off as a complete jackass to the entire city of Dale. “He made me look like an idiot,” Thorin grumbled.

“He made you approachable,” Dis retorted, opening her laptop and sliding it across the table towards him.

Thorin wanted to say he didn’t want to be approachable, but then again, if he was, maybe his mystery man would come to _him_ ; then they would proceed to live happily ever after. “What’s this?” he asked instead, pointing to the computer.

“Your performance at the festival,” Dis grinned, leaning over his shoulder to press play, applause coming out of her tinny speakers. “They live streamed it and now it’s up on YouTube.”

Thorin quirked his head and Dis sighed. He was such an old man. “It’s on the internet, alright?” she said. “You should watch yourself. You were fantastic.”

She pressed play and Thorin immediately paused it, shutting the laptop. Dis looked at him aghast, ready to fight him, but he was already out of his chair. “Dori wanted to see me,” he said, trying to escape the kitchen as quickly as possible.

“You were good, you know,” she hollered after him, allowing him just this once to flee.

* * *

Man in the Moon had always seemed so surreal in the daytime.

No windows to speak of, only the soft yellow of artificial light to brighten the room, the stage waiting in near darkness. There were less shadows, and one could distinguish the red of the carpet, the deep blue of the chairs.

Bilbo loved visiting Man in the Moon when it was closed for these simple reasons. It was as if the club was holding its breath in eager anticipation, knowing that soon it would be filled with life and music.

“There you are,” Bofur said, stepping out of his office with a smile. “Thought you wouldn’t show.” He wrapped his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and shuffled him towards the stage where the old baby grand piano made its home.

Abandoned some years back in a dirty alleyway, Bofur managed to drag it back to the club, calling in the experts to spruce it back up. Bilbo was the only person he trusted to tune the instrument, his friend being of one mind with pianos, and such.

Bilbo thought it was all nonsense.

“She been giving you trouble?” Bilbo asked as he approached the piano, patting it lightly.

“Couple of sharp notes, subtle like,” Bofur answered. “Well I’ll leave ya to it then, shall I?”

“You’re not going to keep me company?” Bilbo asked, surprised. Bofur always used this time to chat and socialize. Yes, it made Bilbo’s job just a bit harder, but seeing as they hardly spent time together as it was, it was a good way to catch up.

Bofur shook his head, pointing back towards his office. “Got a business meeting,” he winked, waving behind him as he left Bilbo alone.

If Bilbo had known he would be alone with his thoughts… well he most certainly would have come prepared with something to think about _other_ than Thorin Oakenshield.

He had read the newspaper that morning and was quite surprised to find Thorin looking back up at him, shoulders stiff, brows turned down, a nervous smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Bilbo did not cut out the article and hid it inside one of his music books. And he most certainly didn’t buy another paper and pinned the article to the cork board in his store.

But if he had, it was for town pride.

He really needed to find a better reason. Even Bilbo saw through his own lies.

* * *

“You want to extend my contract,” Thorin repeated dumbly. Dori was practically vibrating in the chair beside him, little tremors of glee rippling through him every other second or so.

This was what Dori had been fighting for for ages. The security, the praise, a stable home for Thorin to play his music without any pressure. Not to say that Thorin wasn’t pleased, he just hadn’t expected it.

“Your contract ends in September,” Bofur said, pulling out said contract, handing it to Dori. “And you probably want to rush off to bigger, better things.”

No, Thorin wanted to say. He did not.

“Your place is one of those bigger, better things,” Dori reassured Bofur, handing the contract off to Thorin who simply looked at it. There was his sharp signature, signed so many weeks ago. He hadn’t been too sure at first, but now, well now he wanted nothing more than to continue playing at the Man In the Moon. Anything to keep himself close to his muse.

“I accept,” Thorin blurted out, placing the old contract back on the desk as he stood abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor.

“You haven’t even heard his offer,” Dori blustered. They were going to accept, of course, but they had to act like they weren’t. Thorin couldn’t just go around saying yes to everyone that wanted them to play at their music club. They needed to have standards!

Thorin shrugged, grinning at Dori. “You’ll handle it,” he said. “I trust you.”

Dori spluttered as Thorin left the office, Bofur’s chuckles silenced by the shutting of the door.

They were extending his contract.

He didn’t have to rush now. He no longer had until the end of summer to approach the blond man. He could enjoy seeing his face at his shows, and maybe, casually go up to him. He didn’t have to confess his love in songs anymore.

Not that he was going to _stop_ confessing his love in songs. It was really the only way Thorin knew how to express his emotions.

He had done well during the festival. Bofur wanted him to continue playing at the club. Life was good. Very very good.

“You blasted piano,” someone shouted in the empty club, much to Thorin surprise. He quietly walked towards the stage, keeping hidden behind the bar, where he could hear the clear, metallic ringing of an A note.

 On the stage was a short man, his head lost inside the old piano, the external panels carefully sitting on the other side of the stage.

“Don’t get fussy with me,” he continued, pulling himself upright, wagging his tuning lever at the instrument. “You’re due for a checkup, and whining won’t make it any faster.”

Thorin took a step forward, the man suddenly looking very familiar…

“There ya are,” Bofur said, placing a hand on Thorin’s shoulder, making the other man jump near ten feet in the air. “Thought you left.”

“No,” Thorin replied, clutching his hand to his chest. He was going to die of a heart attack one of these days.

“We’re fixing up the new contract now,” Bofur said. “Wondered if you had any demands or some such.”

Thorin shook his head, trying to casually watch the man on stage without Bofur noticing. “Nothing at all.”

It seemed Thorin was unlucky, Bofur’s eyes getting that troublesome twinkle as he wrapped a friendly arm around Thorin’s shoulders. “Bilbo’s a wonder, eh?”

“Bilbo?”

He pointed at Bilbo, the man fussing at the piano, running a hand through his wild curls. “Bilbo Baggins, of course,” Bofur continued. “Best piano tuner in Dale.”

“He… tunes pianos,” Thorin repeated dumbly. Bilbo Baggins. He had a name!

“Sure,” Bofur smiled. “Tunes ‘em, sells ‘em, teaches ‘em. Plays it too. The very best, though he won’t let me convince him to play here. Owns a lil music shop in town.”

“The High Note,” Thorin blurted, remembering the cheap tambourine his nephews had given him that weekend.

“That’s the one,” Bofur said, lightly elbowing Thorin in the ribs. “That’s him. Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo Baggins.

“But ‘nuff about ol’ Bilbo. How about that contract?”

“Right,” Thorin nodded, clearing his throat, mind not completely occupied with Bilbo Baggins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Slow Dancer by Noah Gundersen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxvtH6TvTOw)   
>  [Beside Me by Bears of Legend](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ig7V1r6mk4k)   
>  [Run With Me by Humming House](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eCP3jNs0F_w)   
>  [Be My Husband by Sara Watkins, Sarah Jarosz, & Aoife O'Donovan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FK-ZRHx8tU)   
>  [Turn This Car Around by Fairground Saints](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dfh3D7GOdK4)


	13. Singing to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is an idiot. Bilbo is an idiot. but they are idiots in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, songs for the chapter are linked below, in the 8tracks playlist, and on the spotify playlist :D
> 
> (i'm sitting here in excitement. i hope you guys like this chapter. i love this chapter)  
> (also, when the boys mention dimitri, they mean dimitri from anastasia. they're like 9 and 7, give them a break)

“Yes, yes, hold on sec,” Dis shouted from her bedroom, straightening her skirt and checking her lipstick in the mirror. She hated when she got called into work on her day off. It wasn’t as if the art gallery would fall without her there (despite what she had convinced the rest of her staff). They honestly could handle a few days without her.

They were trained professionals for crying out loud.

“Uncle!” came her sons’ shouts from downstairs, whooping and hollering in his ear, no doubt. That was perhaps the one good thing of working today: at least Thorin wouldn’t have an easy afternoon either.

She slipped on her heels and grabbed a light cardigan, buttoning it as she went down the stairs. “I really appreciate you watching them,” Dis said, hearing her brother’s grunts and her children’s laughter from the living room.

Where had she left her briefcase… Oh! Of course. The hall table. Her heels clacked against the hardwood floor as she journeyed to the hall, finding the leather bag sitting carefully beside her car keys. Perfect.

“Alright boys, I’m off,” she hollered, checking herself once more in the hall mirror, the sound of socked feet coming closer her only preparation for the reflection behind her.

She clutched at her chest, twirling so quickly her perfect braid smacked her in the face. “You cut your hair!” she shrieked, a hand hesitantly reaching out towards Thorin, his once long, beautiful hair now cut short. “You look like you belong in a boy band.”

Thorin gaped at her, completely aghast, a hand going to his hair. He thought he looked rather good, thank you very much. “This is a classic look, thanks,” Thorin told her, fluffing the hair in front of his face a bit. It took some getting used to, but – well he had gone to the barber for a trim and a shave, and suddenly, he told the man to cut it all off.

He hadn’t had his hair this short since he was a teenager. Oh god, he was going through a mid-life crisis.

“I think you look very cool,” Fili reassured his uncle, patting his hand.

Kili nodded his head, grabbing his own long hair and hiding it behind his head. “Mum, can I cut my hair too?”

“No, you may not,” Dis said, planting kisses on each of her boys, her brother included, much to Thorin’s displeasure. “And you,” she continued, poking Thorin’s chest with her manicured finger, “are going to talk to me later and explain yourself.”

He really shouldn’t have gotten a haircut. Of course Dis would notice if he cut his hair. The entire world was going to notice. He was a huge idiot.

“Good luck at your music lessons,” she told Fili and Kili, casting one last glare at Thorin before rushing out of the house, not wanting to be late.

Thorin looked back at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look bad. Just… different. Different was good, right? “You really think I look cool?” he asked his nephews.

Fili and Kili nodded eagerly, saying in unison, “You look awesome! Like Dimitri!”

He wasn’t sure who Dimitri was, but Thorin was going to accept the compliment. Anything to make him feel less like a hopeless fool.

* * *

Wednesdays are always so slow, Bilbo thought to himself as he reorganized the music books. It wasn’t actually true. If anything, Mondays and Thursdays were terribly slow, but at the moment, Bilbo was in a fit and he couldn’t quite shake it.

After finishing with the tuning job, Bofur had sent him lascivious looks, hinting that he had a secret admirer. What in the world was Bilbo supposed to do with that information? He had come in prepared to do an hour’s work, and left confused.

The only admirer Bilbo wanted was – was he actually an admirer though? Thorin seemed to be entranced with him during the Dale Music Festival, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was _actually_ watching him like that.

It could have been a mistake. He could have had his eyes on someone else entirely. Bilbo thumped his head against the shelving unit. He was an adult! He was not infatuated with some musician like a teenager.

He had outgrown that phase years ago.

The bell over the door jingled and Bilbo hollered, “Be right there,” his knees creaking as he stood, cursing himself for acting like a moon-eyed teen. He just needed to remind himself that the likelihood of he and Thorin Oakenshield meeting in any context other than fan and musician was impossible.

“Good morning,” Bilbo smiled, approaching his customers, only for his smile to drop as his mind finally registered who the customer was.

“Good morning,” Thorin replied, voice just as gruff in person as on stage – _and would it change at all? Honestly, Bilbo, get a grip on yourself!_ – half of his mouth turned upwards into a grin and _his hair was short. HE HAD CUT HIS HAIR. OH MERCY._

No wonder he hadn't noticed right away. Why would he do that? Why would he cut that beautiful head of hair? The very hair that Bilbo had the most vivid daydreams of.

And it wasn’t a bad look on Thorin – Bilbo was certain nothing could look bad on him – it was just a huge change. There was still some length, some of the hair curling over his forehead like some sort of wild Heathcliff of Bilbo’s adolescent imagination.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“Are you alright?” the blonde boy at Thorin’s side asked, Bilbo registering him as one of Thorin’s nephews, just as Bifur popped his head in from the back and shuffled towards them.

The boys – Fili and Kili were their names, Bilbo recalled – ran towards him, shouting, “Mr. Bifur!” and jumping atop him, much to Bilbo’s relief.

A hand at his elbow reminded Bilbo that he hadn’t been completely abandoned, Thorin gently leading him towards a chair, setting him down and looking at him in worry. “Bifur, do you have water somewhere?” he asked, and suddenly there was a cup of water in Bilbo’s hands.

“Drink,” Thorin ordered and helplessly, Bilbo obeyed. This had to be some sort of strange dream. Some surreal dream that he would awake from any minute, because things like this didn’t happen.

The cup was removed and Thorin’s concerned face filled Bilbo’s view and it was such a beautiful face that he couldn’t help but sigh.

“Are you feeling better then?” Thorin asked, hesitantly putting his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, his hand warm, burning up Bilbo’s innocent appendage. What had his shoulder done to deserve such an honor?

He nodded with a swallow, searching his pockets for a handkerchief, gently patting his mouth dry. “Very, thank you,” Bilbo managed to say, standing on wobbly knees – _traitors_ – and beamed up at Thorin.

Thorin seemed to gape at him, blinking in concern before turning his head, ears slightly pink – _it’s your imagination Bilbo, strictly your imagination_ – as he murmured, “You’re welcome.”

There was a terribly awkward silence in which Bilbo tugged at his vest, wondering what he was supposed to do now. This was a scenario Bilbo had never planned to be in.

“My nephews have their first guitar lesson today,” Thorin blurted, motioning towards Fili and Kili who were climbing atop Bifur, the shop assistant roaring with laughter. It was perhaps the most animated Bilbo had ever seen him.

Bilbo nodded passively before saying, “Oh!” and rushing towards the checkout counter where he left his reservation book. “Fili and Kili Lombard?” he asked, attempting to get himself together. If he kept it professional, then he could definitely survive this day.

“That’s them,” Thorin replied as Bilbo wrote in his schedule book, less for bookkeeping and more so he didn’t have to look at Thorin’s beautiful face.

Bilbo closed the book and smiled up at Thorin. “Well they’ll be with Bifur for a while,” Bilbo said. “You’re to come back in an hour if you’d like.”

“Am I allowed to stay?” Thorin asked, fingers tapping against the counter.

Stay. He wanted to stay. “Of course,” Bilbo stuttered. “Feel free to… look around. I’ll be… over there.” He pointed to the corner of music books. He needed to get out of here stat.

“Actually,” Thorin broke in, stopping Bilbo’s hasty retreat, “I wanted to look at the guitars. For the boys.”

“We give them some to practice with,” Bilbo blurted. "It's covered in the fee, they're used, of course, but they get the job done."  _Shut up already!_

“I know,” Thorin replied. “I – uh – well I think it’d be good for them to practice at home with something their own, and they’re always asking me to teach them, and their birthdays are coming up and I thought getting them their own guitars would be a good idea.”

This man was too perfect; Bilbo wanted to die.

* * *

Bilbo was perfect. From his nervous nose twitch, down to that horridly green vest, to his strangely large feet, Thorin knew for a fact that he was in love.

Was it idiotic to fall in love with a man he never met? He _had_ just met him _now_ though, so was it idiotic to fall in love with a man he had _just_ met?

“I’m not really an expert on guitars,” Bilbo rambled as he led him to the guitar room in the back of the shop, right next to the music room where he could see Fili and Kili watching Bifur intently. “That’s Bifur, but these here are our smaller guitars. For small hands. Student guitars. But yes, feel free to… take a look.”

“Thank you,” Thorin smiled, picking up a Yamaha and examining it closely. “You’ve been an immense help.”

Bilbo laughed nervously, waving Thorin off. “I doubt that. If you asked about our keyboard selection, well I’m your man,” he declared. “For that. To help with that.”

He was too precious. Thorin wanted to set down the instrument in his hands and wrap them around Bilbo instead.

“You play piano?” Thorin asked innocently.

Bilbo hummed, his arms rhythmically patting the side of his thighs. “My father taught me. And now – well I teach others. I’m not that good, but as they say, ‘those who can’t do, teach.’”

“I don’t believe that,” Thorin objected, putting down the guitar to fold his arms and look Bilbo in the eye. “I’m sure you’re very good.”

“Oh,” Bilbo stammered, arms stilling, big eyes turned up to Thorin. “I’m not terrible.”

Thorin raised a brow. “I suppose that’s slightly better,” he told him. “You shouldn’t put yourself down. Particularly about something you love to do.”

Bilbo just looked at him, completely astonished. Thorin cleared his throat and turned back to the guitars. Had he said too much? Dammit. He didn’t want to come on too strong. He didn’t need to frighten the poor man.

“Do you enjoy teaching piano?” Thorin asked, trying to salvage this conversation.

“It’s not terrible,” Bilbo answered. “When you have a student that cares to learn. Otherwise it’s a bit like pulling teeth.”

“Do you teach anyone?” Thorin asked. “All ages, I mean.”

Bilbo laughed. “Why? Are you looking for lessons?”

“Yes.”

The laughter died quickly, Bilbo gaping at Thorin (and even completely lost for words he was beautiful), cheeks beginning to flush. “You’re not serious,” he said.

“Very,” Thorin continued. He was going to go through with his plan if it killed him. “I want to extend my repertoire, and Dwalin is very good at Chopsticks, but there comes a point in one’s life when they need to throw Chopsticks away and learn to play the piano themselves.”

Bilbo grew pale, hands knocking his thighs once more, his nose twitching once or twice before nodding, beckoning Thorin to follow him back towards his counter.

“What – what day works best for you?” Bilbo asked, opening his schedule book. “We have an opening Monday evenings if you’d like – ”

“That’s perfect,” Thorin interrupted as Bilbo penciled him in, only, he hadn’t given his name, had he. Thorin tried to conceal his smirk as he said, “By the way, I’m Thorin Durin.”

“I know,” Bilbo replied, stilling his pencil ears growing red, a beautiful flush painting his face. He cleared his throat, offering his hand in introduction. “It’s seems I’ve forgotten my manners. Bilbo Baggins.”

“Yes,” Thorin replied, taking his hand. “I know.”

Just then, Fili and Kili burst out of the music room in back, Bifur at their heels. Thorin went to talk to Bifur, handling the fees for his nephews, as well as his own, promising to come back for the two guitars he had seen with the owner.

They waved their goodbyes, Bilbo unable to do more than stand at the counter, completely stunned.

“I’ll see you Friday, then?” Thorin asked as he shuffled his nephews towards the door, the bell dinging loudly.

“Friday?” Bilbo repeated, very, very confused.

“You’re always there,” Thorin revealed. “Except for when you weren’t. But you’ll come to the show, won’t you?”

Oh. Oh! “Yes, of course,” Bilbo reassured him, blinded by the giant smile slowly growing on Thorin’s face. By Jove, he was beautiful when he smiled.

“I look forward to it, then,” Thorin said, winking at Bilbo as he finally left the shop.

Bifur stood there, looking between the closed door and Bilbo. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Bilbo shook his head. “I think I’m going to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKay guys. It's finally happened. They met. And I am crying. And i have been WAITING TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER SINCE I CAME UP WITH THE IDEA LAST YEAR.  
>   
> also, i've imagined Thorin with long hair for most of this au. until now. now he's decided to get a hair cut b/c i really really love the way radio draws folksinger!thorin. and that version has short hair. so now it matches radio's art. ahaha. and i could see this thorin with that hair so i finally decided to take the plunge. trust me, dis comes back from work and takes a pic and sends it to the instagram/facebook/twitter accounts and thorin's fans FREAK THE FREAK OUT BECAUSE DAMN THORIN YOU ARE STILL HOT BUT WHY THE HAIR!!  
>   
> ten points to [eavesoflorien](http://archiveofourown.org/users/leavesoflorien/pseuds/leavesoflorien) for guessing what was going to happen. you may cash in your points at any time (it doesn't really mean anything, but yes, points).
> 
> Songs:  
> [Singing to Me by David Wax Museum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vkggovj_7hk)  
> [My Whole Life Long by Delta Rae](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slKOIYi0T_Q)  
> [Overwhelmed by Tim McMorris](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKRfjyyYazo)  
> [Wonderful Things by Ryan Corn](https://youtu.be/Ac9mRT9aoLA?t=15s)  
> [You Know Me by Air Traffic Controller](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iEoX2MLQji8) (literally my 'canon' song for these dorks for this fic)


	14. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo are pining idiots and need to make out already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm super super tired. like half dead. BUT I NEEDED TO POST THIS TODAY. i defeated my writer's block, and wrote 3.1k words for y'all cause i'm so nice :)  
> this is my valentines day treat!
> 
> also would like to let you all know that I'm moving back in with my parents at the end of the month (texas here i come), so don't expect another chapter until march. if there's one before that, it's truly a miracle. anyways, hope this chapter satiates the wait!!  
> i'll post the link of songs when i'm not half dead. but you can find the songs for this chapter in the spotify playlist. beginning with Hero by Family of the Year

He hadn’t thought he would be so bold.

There was a difference between rehearsing the conversation in his mind, and actually going through with it. What had he been thinking?

He hadn’t been thinking. He had acted completely on instinct, was what he had done. Thorin secretly hoped that he’d slip on a bar of soap and break his leg so he didn’t have to perform tonight. He wasn’t emotionally prepared for this evening.

He shut off the shower, water dripping down his sharp nose, the chill settling on the back of his neck – and why did he cut his hair? His entire life was a semblance of bad decisions – as he reached for a towel, ignoring the flurry of butterflies swarming his stomach.

He was a grown man. He could handle an evening of performing, knowing that the man he was infatuated with was there, watching him. Thorin had been doing it for weeks!

“I’m an idiot,” Thorin groaned as he padded to his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. He went to his dresser and opened the first drawer, scowling into the mirror just above the dresser, repeating, “A complete idiot.”

“He’s self-aware,” Dis piped up and Thorin nearly died of a heart attack, catching her reflection sitting on his bed, a smirk on her face.

Thorin spun, clutching a pair of boxers to his chest, completely horrified. “Dis!” he squawked, sputtering indignantly, half wondering how she got into his flat, only to remember she had the spare keys. He really was an idiot.

Dis rolled her eyes, waving him off. “I’ve seen it all before,” she said simply, standing to take a look at the outfit he had set out on the bed.

“That’s gross,” Thorin muttered, double checking that Dis wasn’t going to peak as he dropped his towel and quickly put on his pants. He rummaged about for a t-shirt as well, seeing as it looked like she wasn’t leaving anytime soon. “I’m your brother you know. It’s creepy when you say things like that.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t because I wanted to,” Dis replied, looking back at him with a raised brow, both of them remembering “the incident which shall never be mentioned.”

Thorin blushed, scratching at his cheek as Dis held up the jeans and hummed. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You _hmm_ ’d,” Thorin said. “Why did you _hmm_?”

“Really, Thorin?” Dis asked, tossing the jeans at him and walking out of his bedroom – finally. “I just find it interesting you’re getting all dressed up, that’s all.”

Damn. He knew she was going to find out. Somehow, someway, she always found out. He just had to – play it cool. That’s right. Completely calm, and cool, and collected. “I’m not dressing up,” Thorin shouted so Dis could hear him from the hallway.

“Those are those jeans I bought you five years ago,” Dis shouted back. “The ones that hug your arse perfectly, don’t think I don’t know. And the last time you wore them was when I made you go on that blind date with my coworker.”

Shit. There really wasn’t any hiding from her. “They’re comfortable,” Thorin attempted.

“Who’s the man?” Dis asked, peaking her head back into the bedroom, Thorin properly dressed. Thorin gaped at her, a look of complete outrage on his face. She just huffed and crossed her arms, leaning in the doorway. “I know you, Thorin, and there’s always a man.”

“Not always,” Thorin mumbled. “I barely date.”

“There’s always a man when you get all nervous like this,” Dis pointed out. She sighed as she walked towards Thorin, putting her hands on his arms. “Who is he then?”

How was he going to explain Bilbo? Perfect, beautiful Bilbo, with his big hazel eyes and those perfect curls, and his ridiculous vests. It was impossible. If he so much as opened his mouth Dis would lock him up and throw away the key.

She smiled at him, patting his arm before stepping away. “Alright, don’t share,” she teased. “But don’t let him hurt you, alright. You’ve got a big heart, Thorin, as much as you like to hide it, and you fall in love so easily.”

“I’d argue otherwise,” Thorin replied. Love was always an obstacle for him. Relationships, people, opening yourself to someone else – he was terrible at it all – but Bilbo made him want to try, at the very least.

“You’re such a silly old man,” Dis said, “not even knowing your own heart.”

* * *

While Prim was very happy to get out of the house – nothing like a colicky baby to reconsider motherhood in its entirety – she still didn’t quite understand why Bilbo had invited her out in the first place.

He had called all panicked and practically begged her to accompany him to a “thing” on Friday, not that he had to do much begging, Prim had been ready to accept the moment Bilbo rang. She had shipped the husband and son to her mother’s, eager to get away, if only for a night.

“Where are we going?” Prim asked for the umpteenth time that evening, following Bilbo deeper into the Dale Arts District. She had only been in the art district a handful of times, most of those times being visiting Bilbo at his shop. She saw no other reason to traipse along the strange artists that roamed about, their lifestyles too bohemian for her taste.

She may be a Brandybuck through and through, but she still had some Hobbity senses (as her grandmother would say).

Bilbo didn’t answer and Prim huffed, putting her hands to her waist, refusing to follow blindly any longer. Bilbo didn’t notice her disappearance until he had reached the crosswalk, when he had turned to inform his cousin that they were nearly there.

“Primula,” Bilbo gaped, staring at her in surprise, standing indignantly in the middle of the pavement. “What are you doing over there?”

“Bilbo Baggins,” Prim stated, “If you don’t tell me what’s going on I’m going to scream.” She took a deep breath in preparation, only for Bilbo to run to her, arms up, head shaking like mad.

His face said it all. As children Primula would scream her head off if she didn’t get her way, usually when the older boys would ignore her or treat her like a cast off band aid. She’d take a deep breath and scream and scream and scream until the boys gave in and let her play with them. Bilbo knew the terror of her scream too well.

“Don’t you dare,” Bilbo shushed her, grabbing her arm and setting her down on a bench. “Anything but that.”

“You’ve been mysterious all evening,” Prim complained. “And you know I love spending time with you, but where in heaven’s name are we going?”

Bilbo sighed, plopping down beside her, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his mobile. After a bit of scrolling he handed it over. Prim gave him a questioning look but stared at the phone, not quite understanding what the problem was. All she saw was a very, very attractive photo of Bilbo’s beau.

How did he get so lucky?

Thorin was beaming into the camera, his button up straining against his bulging muscles and firm chest, his forearms in proper display with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was shorn short, tiny waves falling onto his face, his face framed in a neat beard. His hands were stuffed into the front pockets of tight jeans, a pair of boys mimicking his pose.

 If that man asked her to marry him, Prim would divorce Drogo and abandon Frodo in an instant.

Alright, she wouldn’t _actually_ , but she’d deeply consider saying yes before saying no. It was the thought that counted.

She still didn’t understand what had Bilbo in a titter. If you asked her, he was just bragging.

“He’s got kids, so what,” Primula stated, handing over the phone. “If anything, it makes your boyfriend even hotter.”

Bilbo groaned, placing his head in his hands. “He’s not my boyfriend,” Bilbo admitted, letting his eye peak out behind a finger.

“Alright, partner, significant other – I really don’t think you should be so caught up in the label,” Prim declared. “All that matters is that you bagged him.”

“We’re not dating,” Bilbo tried again, this time looking Primula in the eye. “I had never met him until Wednesday.” He put his head back into his hands his words muffled as he said, “And I think he was flirting with me but I don’t know so please, Prim, help me not make a complete idiot of myself.”

The _Idiot!_ “Bilbo!” Prim exclaimed, scaring a flock of pigeons that dared to get too close. “Did you bring me along on your date?”

“No!” Bilbo reassured her, face pink. Primula didn’t quite believe him. He had actually tried to tame his curls when Prim arrived. If that didn’t spell date, then she didn’t know what did. “I mean – he asked me to come – but it’s not a date. It can’t be a date. I just – I need confidence.”

Prim wanted to tell him exactly what she thought would instill some confidence in him, but she didn’t want to be vulgar in front of the group of children passing by with their mother. Honestly, the things she did for her idiot of a cousin.

“So we’re going to one of his shows?” Prim asked.

“Yes.”

“He invited you to his show, after you met him Wednesday and flirted with you,” Prim stated.

“I doubt he was flirting,” Bilbo blushed. “He’s probably like that with everyone.”

Prim had to force herself to not roll her eyes for fear the sheer force of it would cause them to pop out of her head and roll down into the drain, never to be seen again. Were all men this stupid? “Bilbo if I show up with you, he’s going to murder me,” Primula told him.

“You have to come,” Bilbo begged. “I don’t want to be the fool who got his hopes up, alright? Please.”

Why did she have to get dragged along this mess? She could be at home right now, covered in spit up and nursing a headache. Actually, she’d take this over that any day of the week. “Fine,” she relented. “But the second you get the chance, you jump his bones, do you understand?”

An old woman gasped in shock, much to Prim’s delight.

* * *

“There’s a man,” Dis whispered the minute she saw Dwalin, dragging him towards the toilets. “You didn’t tell me there was a man.”

Dwalin didn’t quite understand what Dis was talking about, but then again, he hardly ever did. “What man?”

“Thorin’s got a man!” Dis hissed, punching him in the arm. “I need you to help me figure out who it is.”

Yes, that made perfect sense. It wasn’t like Dwalin was going to be performing or anything. He clearly had nothing better to do than search for Thorin’s apparent “man.” He should have known he would get pulled into something this ridiculous. He could always depend on the Durin siblings to make his life a complete mess. “Who is he then?” Dwalin asked.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking,” Dis replied. “Just let me know if Thorin acts weird around someone. They’d most likely be very short and very cute.”

Right. The Type.

“Fine,” Dwalin grunted. “Can I get back to work?”

“Yes, yes, go on,” Dis said, shoving him away from her as if _he_ was the one taking up all her time. He really needed to find some new friends. Maybe Nori knew some people.

* * *

Bilbo sipped at his beer quietly, waiting for the very talented violinist to finish her set. He could see the curtains ruffle behind her, the near silent sounds of people setting up, no doubt Nori and Dwalin.

He glanced at his watch, his nerves beginning to frazzle him as the clock ticked closer to nine. How should he look when the curtains opened and Thorin stepped on stage? Should he sit here expectantly – or maybe like he usually did – appreciative, but reserved. That would work, right?

Dear lord he was going to have a heart attack.

“Calm down,” Primula whispered, gently patting his knee. “It’ll be fine.”

Bilbo swallowed nervously. “I think I’m going to vomit,” he admitted just as the violinist finished, the applause adding to the butterflies in his stomach.

Before he had time to prepare the curtains parted and on stepped Thorin, looking as handsome as ever, some gasps from the audience sprinkled in amongst the applause. It seems not everyone had been informed about Thorin’s sudden change in appearance.

He smiled bashfully at the audience, sitting down on his stool, mic pressed close to his mouth. “Good evening,” he said, and Bilbo could feel Prim tense up beside him. Yeap, he had the exact same reaction.

“So...,” he said. “I got a haircut.”

The audience laughed, a few shouted, “How could you!” or “Warn us next time!” much to Thorin’s embarrassment.

“Oh my god,” Prim said into Bilbo’s ear. “He’s a complete dork, I am in love.”

Thorin’s smiled dimmed slightly as he caught Bilbo’s eye, no doubt noticing how close Prim was to him. Oh no! Bilbo elbowed Prim in the ribs, her “ouch!” loud enough for half of the audience to turn and look at them.

“Fine, bask in your man,” Prim told him as she grabbed her margarita and left for the bar.

Thorin kept his eyes on her as she began chatting with Bofur, half way through his first song. Bilbo should have known better than to bring Primula along. What if it really was a date?

The song ended and Bilbo put a smile on his face, ignoring Primula completely. She was practically miles away now, eyes on Thorin performing on stage.

Their eyes met and Bilbo blushed, Thorin’s frown quickly growing softer, the ends up his mouth upturned slightly. God, this wasn’t actually happening was it?

Was he flirting with Thorin right now? Was this happening?

* * *

When Thorin was sixteen he had had an immense crush on the boy who worked as a lifeguard at the community pool. He had spent nearly every day there that summer, just to get a glimpse of him in all his half naked glory.

He had noticed, of course, and approached Thorin, asking him why he kept looking at him. Thorin, caught off guard, admitted that he liked him, and was extremely surprised when the lifeguard asked him out.

The day of the date had arrived and Thorin had dressed up as nice as he could, eager to meet the love of his life, only to be stood up. Three hours he waited, only for the boy to show up with a group of his friends, ignoring Thorin as he stood there.

Never again, Thorin had vowed.

Yet there was Bilbo, laughing and cavorting with some woman as if he hadn’t been personally invited to the show. What had he been thinking?

Dwalin couldn’t help but notice the look of panic on Thorin’s face and scanned the audience for the culprit. There, near the back. Damn, he was everything Dis said he’d be.

He pointed as discreetly as he could, hoping Dis would catch on and she did, that miracle woman. Dwalin watched her strike up a conversation with the woman at the bar, waiting for some sort of sign, a signal to relieve the pain.

There.

Dis had winked at him, giving him a thumbs up and at the end of the song, Dwalin went to Thorin and whispered, “They’re not together so get your head out of your arse.”

Thorin blinked in surprise, covering the mic as he hissed back, “What are you talking about?”

Dwalin gestured with his head towards Bilbo. “Dis checked it out. So stop moping,” Dwalin told him, patting him on the shoulder.

Thorin returned to the mic, his smile just a little bit brighter. “How are we all doing tonight?” Thorin asked, winking at Bilbo as the audience hooted and hollered their answers. “Sounds marvelous,” he said before going into his next song, keeping an eye on Bilbo all the while.

* * *

After the show, with a push from Primula, and a bit of liquid courage, Bilbo stood by the stage, nervously rocking back and forth on his heels. Whether this was a date or not, Bilbo had to at least talk to Thorin, say thank you – thank you for… being wonderful.

“Hi,” Thorin breathed as he stepped off the stage, sweat running down his temple, his guitar strapped to his back.

“Hello,” Bilbo grinned, just as breathless, taking in the sight of Thorin up close. He had been too much in shock on Wednesday to appreciate pure rugged handsomeness of him. His hair was plastered to his head and there was a rosy tint to his cheeks, no doubt from the lights. “You were wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Thorin replied. “So were you. I mean – you – I’m glad you came.”

“Likewise,” Bilbo said, biting his lip to stop himself from gushing over him like some preteen. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

Thorin nodded, catching the eye of the woman Bilbo had come in with. His smile dropped and Bilbo turned, waving at the lady. “That’s my cousin,” Bilbo explained in a rush. “She – she insisted on coming with me.”

“Oh,” Thorin beamed. “That’s fantastic!” He coughed, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m glad.”

“You are?” Bilbo asked. Maybe he had read him wrong. Could he want to start something with Prim? Bilbo could feel himself deflate.

“Of course,” Thorin answered. “I – well I thought she was your date. Felt a bit like an idiot.”

“Why?” Bilbo asked. Stop asking dumb questions, he mentally scolded himself, but he needed the validation.

“Because – because I – I really wanted you here,” Thorin stuttered. “And I thought you were trying to let me down easy.”

Bilbo could feel his face grow hot. He _had_ been flirting with him. Oh dear Lord, was it hot in here? Any second now Bilbo was going to faint. “Women aren’t my area, so to speak,” Bilbo admitted.

“Great!” Thorin beamed, Fili and Kili barreling into him at top speed. He picked up the boys, each in one arm – and didn’t that set off Bilbo’s imagination – and said, “So I’ll see you Monday, then.”

“Yes, Monday,” Bilbo managed to say before Thorin made his goodbyes, his nephews giggling into his strong, firm chest.

“I’m not going to survive ‘til Monday,” he muttered, desperately fanning his face.

Somewhere in the car park, Thorin was thinking the exact same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hero by Family of the Year  
> Jealous by Labrinth  
> Dream by Priscilla Ahn  
> Wasn't Expecting That by Jamie Lawson  
> Stay With Me by Sam Smith


	15. In Your Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo are both dumb and I hate them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi! I apologize for taking so long to update! I moved back in w/ my parentals a little over a month ago and it's been pretty chaotic. Seriously, no one in this house lets me write.   
> This chapter isn't that long :C BUT I promise not to take fifty years for the next update. That said, this fic is almost finished! idk how many more chapters (the 20 is a guesstimate) but we're nearing the end and I have some really great plans and hopefully I will not disappoint. (if i do take a million years feel free to bug the crap out of me b/c i am a lazy walrus w/ no motivation)  
> I have posted the songs for this chapter at the end note. spotify is updated but uh.. i'm really lazy so 8tracks is still like 3 chs behind. i'm sorry. i'm a horrible human being. speaking of music, THE LUMINEERS CAME OUT W/ THEIR NEW ALBUM AND IT IS ABOUT DAMN TIME I WISH I COULD USE ALL THEIR SONGS FOR THIS FIC but i won't b/c i know self control. also highly recommend listening to shake shake go.   
> BUT YOU'RE NOT HERE TO READ MY RANTS. So enjoy the chapter!

“I’m assuming you know how to read music,” Bilbo stated as he placed some sheet music in front of Thorin, sitting beside him on the piano stool. He had all weekend to bemoan his fate, and now he just had to, as his mother used to say, bite the bullet. So what if Thorin was beautiful and perfect and was looking at him with those big blue eyes as if Bilbo held his life in his hands?

Damn, Bilbo wouldn’t be able to last the hour.

“You assume incorrectly,” Thorin admitted, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Gandalf had started his teachings with music reading. It had just never stuck. And as a teenage boy, it was so much easier and faster to play by ear, or by watching.

Bilbo blinked at him in response. “But,” Bilbo puzzled, “how do you write down your songs?”

“Memory,” Thorin replied. “I do, however, know what the little circles mean.”

“The notes.”

“Yes.”

Bilbo was hoping Thorin wasn’t serious. He hadn’t been prepared for this situation. He knew that Thorin could play a little bit of piano. He figured it was a matter of honing and perfecting those skills. Instead it was clearly picked up somewhere, not even a bit of training. And to think that every song he ever played had been memorized!

He was both baffled and blown away. He had grown up around a strict understanding of music theory and composition. He learned how to read music at the same time he learned to read words. It was simply innate to Bilbo, something he had assumed was the same for Thorin.

It seemed he was wrong.

“Oh,” was Bilbo’s brilliant response.

Thorin frowned, afraid that he had somehow upset Bilbo. “I know where middle C is,” he blurted, pressing down on the key. “Every Good Boy Does Fine and FACE,” he continued, playing the scales. “The sheet music just… confuses me.”

Bilbo wasn’t too sure about diving in without a basic knowledge of reading sheet music. He had several sheets he saved for his younger students, that he considered giving to Thorin. After all, Thorin _was_ paying him to teach him, not just to coddle him.

“Hopefully we’ll unconfuse you,” Bilbo told him, rushing towards his bookcase and pulling out a child’s music book and a folder full of worksheets. “I’m very glad you know the basics of the piano but reading music is very important.”

He handed Thorin the book and with a stern look said, “We can’t just overlook it.”

* * *

“What’s that?” Fili asked, resting his head on his uncle’s lap. Thorin was on babysitting duty once again. Kili had passed out some ten minutes earlier and was snoozing in his Iron Man tent, cocooned by an unearthly amount of pillows. Fili was nearing that state himself, but fought to finish watching _The Jungle Book_ , only mildly interested in what his uncle was reading.

“Homework,” Thorin told him, running his fingers through Fili’s golden locks.

Fili scrunched up his face in confusion. “You don’t go to school,” he said.

“For piano lessons,” Thorin explained. “Mr. Bilbo says I’m hopeless.”

“Mr. Bifur gives me and Kee homework sometimes, but he doesn’t get mad when we forget,” Fili mumbled, burrowing further into Thorin’s side, grabbing a blanket and throwing it over himself, movements sluggish. “But when we remember he gives us candy. Does Mr. Bilbo give you candy?”

Thorin shook his head, wondering what the grownup equivalent of candy would be. Perhaps a bright smile or a pat on the back, or even a kiss. If Bilbo kissed him for every accomplishment, Thorin was sure he’d quickly pick up reading music. As it stood, Thorin had a worse time of it when he tried to read the damn music sheets.

“I wish,” he mumbled as Fili drifted off to sleep.

It’d been three weeks since he had begun his lessons and Thorin felt he wasn’t getting anywhere. He still couldn’t find his voice around Bilbo.

He had had so many opportunities to ask him out and every time Thorin convinced himself to get the courage, it would slip out the door, only to be replaced with nausea and anxiety.

What if Bilbo said no?

He had accepted all of Thorin’s invitations to come to his show, and Bilbo had reassured him that they both batted for the same team – but what if Thorin just wasn’t Bilbo’s type. What if he was nothing more than friend material?

And there lay the problem.

Thorin had about as much confidence as a cod fish when it came to dating. He just didn’t do it. It was so much easier to avoid the dating thing entirely. The words simply would not come out, no matter how hard he tried.

Instead Thorin was hoping that maybe Bilbo felt the same way and asked him out first.

Thorin hit his head with his workbook. There was no way someone as marvelous as Bilbo would actually want to date some dumb musician who couldn’t even read sheet music.

* * *

Bilbo couldn’t help but feel that based off their current student-teacher relationship, attempting to further it would be morally wrong.

 “Oh my god, you’re an idiot,” Primula exclaimed over the phone. She half wished she was there with Bilbo to smack him upside the head and shove him towards Thorin. “You are grown ass men, and if you two don’t start kissing I swear, I am going to force you.”

She could only take so much of Bilbo’s pining. Honestly, it was like the man had never dated in his entire life. It was so obvious Thorin was into him, Primula wanted to pull out her hair.

“I’m his teacher,” Bilbo insisted, anxiously biting his lip. The shop was nearly empty, the setting sun shining brightly through the window, tinting the store pink. He could hear Bifur cleaning the music rooms and Hamfast organizing the music books, leaving him to fret over his moral code.

Thorin had come for three lessons already, and every time he was… just completely… perfect. That’s what. He was perfect in every way. Even the way his fingers would stutter over the keys was perfect.

His inability to read sheet music was less than ideal, but he was trying, even if he was terrible at it. But even then, rose tinted glasses and all that.

And this was why Bilbo was certain that they couldn’t date. He had been hired to teach the man to play piano, not to drool over his muscles, striking face, and deep, melodious voice. It was highly improper.

“It’s completely unprofessional,” Bilbo continued. “He simply wants to further his career; he’s not interested in the sad piano teacher.”

Prim let out a long suffering sigh. “Bilbo if you don’t ask him out I am going to ask him out for you,” Prim declared, ending the call.

“Primula!” Bilbo shrieked, only just realizing she had hung up.

Bilbo clutched tightly to his phone as he dropped his head onto the counter. It wasn’t that easy. He couldn’t just ask out Thorin willy nilly, even if he was interested in him as well. He had never been very good at this whole dating thing to begin with.

If Thorin asked him instead, things would be so much easier. Not that Bilbo was expecting that either. He knew where he stood with Thorin. They were friends, if that. They were student and teacher. They were acquaintances that sometimes flirted after Thorin’s shows.

Not that it was actually flirting. Maybe Bilbo was flirting, a little bit. But that didn’t mean Thorin was flirting back.

And thus Bilbo returned right back to the crux of the problem. There was no guarantee that Thorin wouldn’t reject him. It took Bungo Baggins fifteen years to talk to Belladonna Took, and they grew up together. Bilbo couldn’t help that he inherited his father’s cautiousness when it came to love.

Which it wasn’t. It couldn’t be love. It was just extreme liking. An idiotic crush.

Bilbo groaned, pulling at his curls. He was going to die alone, wasn’t he?

* * *

“Here,” Dis said, leaning against the doorjamb, holding up a pair of tickets with a wicked smile on her face.

Thorin folded his arms, refusing to move closer, ignoring the sound of Dwalin cursing at his phone. He knew that smile, and knew nothing good would come of it. “What’s that?” Thorin asked.

She walked up to him, Thorin stiffening as Dis tucked the tickets into his shirt pocket. “Some pianist is playing at the Dale Music Hall this Saturday, and you are taking Mr. Bilbo Baggins.”

Thorin felt his heart beat rapidly and his mouth go dry. “Dis!” he shouted.

“Don’t yell at me in my house,” Dis scolded, pointing a sharp finger in her brother’s face. “I am tired of you two pining over each other. I mean, god, Thorin, just kiss already.”

Thorin distantly heard Dwalin snort as he clenched his fists. She made it seem so easy. “What if he says no?” Thorin asked, his shirt pocket aflame, burning a hole through his chest.

“He won’t,” Dis insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [In Your Arms by Chef'Special](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLQFjg1UIac)   
>  [Back To You by WILD](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtcWvsiQkZE)   
>  [There's Nothing Better by Shake Shake Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gzEiRl3eTgk)   
>  [Wildfire by Seafret](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTfHUbffjr0)   
>  [Dear River by Kina Grannis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OGhSyQ2xpCw)
> 
> yo, have I mentioned I have a [tumblr?](http://andquitefrankly.tumblr.com/) Sometimes I post dumb folksinger!thorin stuff. other times i reblog memes. mainly i just kind of cry about hot guys (and gals).


	16. Lover of the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin decides to man up. Dori is real tired of this shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to have this chapter out earlier, but i wanted to add to it and then i didn't like where the chapter was going so i stuck with my original chapter and then i had to change up my playlist and... yeah. that was my unnecessary stress.  
> also, trying out this new thing! if you like the fic, or the chapter or w/e, how about you [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A5571CJ)?

Bilbo clapped enthusiastically with the rest of the audience, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered when Thorin grinned in his general direction. It wasn’t _for_ him. It was just – his on stage persona. Yes, that was it. It was just a character that Thorin played on stage.

Primula was right. He just had to bite the damn bullet before Thorin moved on to someone with the actual courage to say, “I think you and I could be great together.”

Though he wasn’t going to use those exact words. That seemed a bit too forward. He could just… turn up his flirt game. Dial it up a notch or ten.

Bilbo downed the rest of his beer, attempting to pep himself up. He just had to go back stage and say… say… - He had no idea what he was going to say!

This is why he was single. This is why he was going to die a sad, lonely little man, with nothing but a piano for company. Maybe he could invest in a cat?

“Is this seat taken?”

Bilbo looked up, only to let out a very dignified squeak. Thorin stood opposite him, a nervous smile on his face. Bilbo nodded dumbly as he sat, eyes raking over his chest, the t-shirt practically glued to him. It was obscene.

“Are you okay?” Thorin asked, putting a gentle hand to Bilbo’s cheeks and forehead, much to his embarrassment.

“I’m fine,” Bilbo managed, grabbing Thorin’s hand, and then realizing he didn’t quite know what to do with it once he pulled it away from his face, so they sat there, hands awkwardly sitting on the table. “Sorry,” Bilbo mumbled, letting go and tucking his hands underneath his thighs.

He was acting like a complete fool. You talk to him on a weekly basis, Bilbo shouted at himself. Pull yourself together!

“It’s alright,” Thorin replied, folding his hands on the table, before making a face and choosing to tap on the table instead. “Did you like the show?”

“Loved it!” Bilbo exclaimed before slapping a hand over his mouth. God, he was so easy. How did the world not know how much he wanted to be wrapped in those big, strong arms – it was so obvious astronauts were probably making bets in space.

Stop it Bilbo! He was practically screaming at himself. Get a grip! No, no, no, not that kind of grip. Mind out of the gutter!

“I’m glad,” Thorin smiled, a small lock of hair curling at his temple, his blue eyes gleaming under the club lights.

“I – I always enjoy your shows,” Bilbo admitted. “You’re so beautiful.” Thorin blushed, sitting up a little straighter as he looked away.

“I mean,” Bilbo stuttered, realizing what he had said. “You’re beautiful up there. On stage. Not that you’re not usually beautiful. You’re just really great. The best. Please tell me to shut up.”

Thorin chuckled, the deep sound reverberating against the table, the sound traveling through to Bilbo’s bones. “Thank you,” Thorin said. “You’re just as lovely.”

He thinks you’re lovely, Bilbo’s mind supplied, little sparks flying off, his brain short circuiting for just a moment, just long enough for him not to notice Thorin was still talking.

“ – and I thought, maybe you’d like to come with me,” Thorin finished, eyes fixed on a small groove on the table, a pair of tickets in his hands – and where did he get those?

“Are you asking me on a date?” Bilbo blurted, not really sure what he had missed, but if this was what he thought it was, then yes, a thousand times yes, Bilbo would very much like to date him, and kiss him, and marry him.

Thorin looked back up at Bilbo, determination in his eyes as he gave one, short, perfunctory nod.

“God, yes,” Bilbo breathed, slumping backwards in his seat, a giggle escaping his mouth. “I’d love to.”

Thorin blinked at him in surprise, leaning forward. “Really?”

Bilbo nodded, more giggles finding their freedom, just as he leaned forward. “I’ve been trying to pep myself up to ask you,” Bilbo admitted, head hitting the table, his body shaking with laughter. “I’ve never been so relieved in my entire life.”

“You’re relieved!” Thorin blurted, covering his face with his hands, ears tinged pink. “I thought I was going to throw up.”

* * *

Dori thrummed with excitement as he waited in Dwalin’s truck, mobile clutched in hand, half afraid Galadriel would call him back to say she’d changed her mind.

This was it, everything he had ever worked for, and he had done it through hard work, perseverance, and no name dropping. Thorin helped a little bit – you couldn’t really get far in the music industry without an artist – and now he just had to convince him that this was a good thing.

He really wasn’t looking forward to it.

In truth he had wanted to run out on stage and shout the good news. Certainly all of his fans would agree that this was fantastic. A record deal was amazing! It was nigh impossible! It was a miracle.

Some men were just undeserving.

The truck was loaded up and idling, Dwalin humming along to some song on the radio. Dori checked his watch, wondering just what was taking Thorin so long, when his door opened and in slid Thorin, a giant grin on his face.

“Went well then,” Dwalin grunted, putting the truck in drive.

“I’m picking him up at 6,” Thorin answered, reaching over Dori to rub at Dwalin’s head, the bigger man swatting at him as he tried to get out of the car park.

Dori clutched at his heart, his life flashing before his eyes, regretting not being able to see Ori graduate from Uni. This was clearly the end.

“Hallo, Dori,” Thorin grinned, wrapping an affectionate arm around his shoulders and tapping on his tie. “Lavender’s a marvelous color on you.”

This was just too much. Dori pushed Thorin off, giving him a good swat behind the head as he shouted, “Stop acting like a child and sit still. And put on a seatbelt.”

Thorin acquiesced with a guilty shrug, but his dreamy eyed look remained as he sighed into the window. “Life is marvelous,” Thorin hummed.

“What in heaven’s name has gotten into you?” Dori grumbled, fixing his tie as best he could, glad that Nori wasn’t there to witness this humiliation. It would only give him ideas.

“Nothing, yet,” Dwalin commented, earning a hard smack in the head from Thorin, scaring the daylights out of Dori.

“Oy!” Thorin exclaimed. “Respect.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes, grunting out a half-hearted apology. He bit back a retort, figuring that Thorin in a good mood was much better than him wallowing in self-pity. There was only so much of that a man could take, best friend or not.

The joke just happened to translate to Dori, who gaped in astonishment at Dwalin, shaking his head and letting out a flustered, “Why I never!”

“What are you doing here, Dori?” Thorin yawned, the adrenaline quickly wearing off, and thoughts of his nice, warm bed at the forefront of his mind.

Right. Dori wasn’t sitting in a beat up truck just for the fun of it. He clapped in his in excitement and said, “We’re going to London!”

“What?” Thorin blustered, suddenly wide awake. “Now?”

Dori waved his hand. “No, not now,” he replied. “Tomorrow.”

“Can’t,” Thorin said, crossing his arms.

Dori gaped at him, looking at Dwalin for some support. The big lump of a man just shrugged. Really! Was no one on his side? “What do you mean you can’t?” Dori fumed.

“I’ve got a date,” Thorin grinned. “And I’m not missing it for anything, understand.” He leaned his head against the window, declaring the conversation over.

Well, two could play at that game, Dori decided. He was just as stubborn as any Durin, even more so, if you asked his brothers, and he wasn’t about to be dismissed because of some date.

“Now you listen to me, Thorin Durin,” Dori started, shoving a finger into Thorin’s bicep. “I managed to get an in with Istari, and after weeks and months of calling, they finally listened to your EP.”

“And they said no,” Thorin stated.

Dori didn’t want to mention that, but well, “Alright, they said no.”

“Then why are we going?”

“Because,” Dori continued. “That Saruman fellow didn’t like your music all that much, but one of those producers from Lothlorien was there, and she wants to sign you.”

Thorin could feel a headache forming. This wasn’t what he wanted. He’d play some shows, sing some songs, let Dori fawn over him if it suited him, but an actual record deal. It just wasn’t comprehensible. “I’m not signing with anyone,” Thorin declared, silently urging Dwalin to drive faster.

What would it take to get that through Dori’s head, or his sister’s head, for that matter. Talking about it, or joking about it was one thing, but why did he have to go and make it reality?

Dori bristled where he sat. “I worked very hard for this,” Dori chastised. “I called, I sent emails, I sent letters, I’ve spent the past five years devoted to your music! I haven’t been on a date in ages, myself. I don’t understand why you’re putting up a fuss!”

“Once you get a record deal, it’s all over, isn’t it?” Thorin countered. “It becomes real. Right now, I’m just some guy playing guitar for laughs. What happens when it’s everyone else laughing, and I’m left standing on the sidelines with nothing but my wounded pride?”

Dwalin shook his head. “It ain’t gonna happen, Thorin,” he tried, parking the car in front of Dis’ house.

“Like I’d let anyone make a fool of you!” Dori exclaimed, completely outraged. “I’ve got nothing but your best interests in mind.”

“You don’t get it,” Thorin mumbled, throwing open the door and stomping towards the house. “I’m not doing it.”

Dori tried to follow, but was held back by his safety belt. He unbuckled the damned thing and chased after Thorin, ignoring the looks he was getting from far too nosy neighbors. “Thorin, you get back here,” Dori called. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“Yes, we are,” Thorin ordered.

Dori clenched his fists and stomped on the ground, finally losing his composure. “You’re an amazing musician, Thorin,” Dori urged. “Your musical talents are endless; why won’t you share that with the world?”

“Because the _world_ doesn’t want me!” Thorin roared back, slamming the front door behind him.

They have everything at their fingertips and that damned man! Dori felt his blood boiling. “He’s so damn stubborn,” Dori stormed, pulling at his tie, groaning internally when Dis’ car drove up.

What was he going to tell her? It was all a huge mess.

“How’d it go?” Dis asked, Kili in her arms, Fili reaching up towards Dwalin with a yawn.

“Perfectly,” Dori grumbled, gathering his shredded dignity and stumbling towards his car. “Just brilliantly.”

Dis could only watch him leave, completely confounded. She looked at Dwalin who had the sense to look sheepish. “What did he do?”

“On the bright side," Dwalin said, "he got the date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Lover of the Light by Mumford and Sons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8eB64pXoGU)  
> [Gun Song by The Lumineers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1JiqlJAZcQ) (GOD I LOVE THIS SONG)  
> [Granny by Avec](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjZ-byzQL8o)  
> [Unsteady by X Ambassadors](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFjryf8zH_M)  
> [I'm Not the Man by Ben Folds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AL4elN85WQ0)


	17. I Want to Write You a Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANGST. There is a DATE. and more angst. Oh boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN AGES I AM SO SORRY.  
> I signed up for two big bangs (frostiron & check please!) and they were both due around the same time. Plus I moved from TX to Chicago, and I've been basically a mom to my little sister. and I'm applying to Grad school!!  
> lots of changes and life attacking me.  
> The first half of the chapter had been written for forever, but I wanted to include the date and then I didn't know how to do it. so yes. finally. 6 months later. We continue the story.  
> i'm going to try and update this and my other fics regularly, but be patient w/ me.

Thorin lay in bed, idly watching the ceiling fan spin listlessly above him, squeaking after every rotation. His phone was turned off, stuffed under the couch cushions, hidden away to quell temptation; temptation to talk and talk and talk and yell and scream and cry. Silence was much more comforting, a befitting punishment for his childish behavior.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. Three o’clock in the morning.

He sat up, trying to make out the pattern on his bed sheets, trying to find something to cling to, to remind him that he was here, now. The fan squeaked.

He should have been there.

How many nights had he gone sleepless for that one thought?

He was young, selfish, thinking only of what _he_ could accomplish. And others suffered for it. Suffered and died for it.

“Dammit,” Thorin cursed, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, his lungs constricting, that sinking feeling in his stomach as if he was being squeezed from the inside out. He lay his head between his legs, nails digging into his knees.

  _It’s three in the morning_ , Thorin tried to remind himself. _It’s three in the morning, it’s Saturday, you’re in your home, in your bed._ He felt bile rise up in his throat, the threat of vomiting making his heart beat faster. He willed it back down, stumbling out of bed and to the toilet, resting his head against the porcelain seat.

He had had a therapist once; lasted only one session, forced by his concerned grandparents, but not forced to continue, believing Thorin when he said it hadn’t really helped, that he would be fine on his own.

She had told him that it wasn’t his fault. That’s probably why Thorin couldn’t stomach being in the same room as her.

But Thorin carried on, he had to. He had his sister and mother to care for, there was no point in dwelling in the past, no matter how much it hurt, like an open wound left to fester.

He couldn’t bring them back.

He knew that. He had accepted that much.

Thorin let the cool touch of the toilet on his forehead center him. _You’re home. You’re fine. It’s three in the morning_ , he repeated, ignoring the distant wails of sirens from a bad memory.

_It wouldn’t have made a difference if you were there,_ Thorin told himself. _Late or not, they would have gone just the same. We were all so desperate for more, more from that old mine, desperate for a respite from second hand clothes, dirty faces, and heavy lungs with nothing to show for it but a bad cough that wouldn’t let, and hungry kids that were too accustomed to it that they didn’t realize how poor they were._

It’s why Thorin had tried so damn hard to make something of himself. He wasn’t smart, he wasn’t personable; but when he had his guitar in hand he felt alive, like he could take on the world, get himself out of that tiny little mining town and off towards greater things. He’d help them, he’d help all of them. His parents, his grandparents, his cousins, the butcher who let them get meat on credit, the grocer whose son gave Thorin his first kiss in the alleyway by the bins, the dry cleaner who somehow always got those stains out of his Pa’s suit.

People would talk about the Blue Mountains again with reverence – they’d call it Erebor once more, and Thorin would praise his hometown as the world watched.

He imagined this is what Icarus felt like, so close, and failing, his hubris killing him. But his hubris took his brother instead. It took his father. It took the whole damn town with it, leaving Thorin an empty shell of a boy.

He couldn’t even look at his guitar. He couldn’t hear a note of music without wanting to scream, his whole body boiling over with nowhere to go. It was so easy let it all fade away, focus on other things, pretend like the thought of picking up his guitar again didn’t make him so scared, so scared and so small.

And he had kept that promise to himself. He had. He kept the damn thing locked away, not enough heart to get rid of it, but sense enough to keep it out of sight.

Smiles were fewer, laughter hollow, his fingers itched to write, to play, to make something. He had a sister, a mother, grandparents, had to keep their heads above water even if they claimed to be doing just fine drowning out at sea.

Frerin, for all that he was but a dumb kid, loved to hear Thorin play. He had wanted to be at his first show, told Thorin that if he didn’t take him he’d never talk to him again. Seemed like he kept his promise. He was always so good at keeping promises.

Thorin used the toilet to help himself stand, the nausea reduced to a tiny simmer in his belly. He trudged back to his bedroom, gently climbing back into bed, praying that sleep would find him.

* * *

Bilbo pulled at his bowtie, wondering if it was a bit much, or if he still looked as horribly under dressed as he felt. What if Thorin showed up in a suit? One of those tailored things with his arms and thighs perfectly on display, showing off the assets that Bilbo clearly didn’t have. For god’s sake, he was wearing a rouge waistcoat! He might as well stamp “OLD MAN” on his forehead.

This was going to be a disaster. He should have gone shopping earlier, bought anything that didn’t look as ridiculous as he did now.

“Date late or are you early?” Hamfast asked, skimming an old issue of _Rolling Stone_. Bilbo clutched his heart, forgetting completely that he was having an emotional breakdown in the middle of his store. Maybe he should just wait outside. But then even more people would see him freak out.

Inside it was then.

“Early,” Bilbo muttered, tapping his hands against the counter, glancing at the clock across the room. The second hand ticked away mercilessly, inching the minute hand ever closer to one. “Do I look alright?” he asked.

Hamfast looked up from the magazine, giving Bilbo quick once over. “Sure,” he said. “Where you going?”

“Dale Music Hall,” Bilbo said, blushing as Hamfast whistled. “What?”

“Is it that hot dad then?” Hamfast asked. “The one you moon over every time he comes in for his piano lesson?”

Bilbo punched him in the arm, hoping that he wasn’t blushing like a school girl. “First off, _Thorin_ is their uncle. Not dad. And secondly, yes, actually. It is.”

“Finally,” Hamfast said. “The amount of sexual tension in the room with you two together literally made me cry at night.”

Bilbo punched him again, face flushed, a squeak escaping his mouth. Even Hamfast noticed how far gone he was on the guy, and Hamfast didn’t notice anything. He was a sad, pathetic old man.

“Shut up,” he said, making his escape. He’d much rather take his chances outside than inside, where Hamfast would just rile him up even more.

Bilbo paced back and forth in front of his shop, pulling at the bowtie. It really was too much. Did he have time to upstairs and change? What if he showed up and he saw Bilbo leaving, and assumed he was standing him up?

He’d just have to stick with the dratted tie. And after weeks of pining, this was the sort of impression he was going to make. He could do this. It was only a date. He could do this. He wasn’t the best at dating, but Thorin was worth it.

Bilbo certainly hoped he was.

“Hi,” Thorin said, stopping Bilbo mid-stride, waggling his fingers nervously.

Bilbo suddenly felt incredibly overdressed compared to Thorin’s jeans and oxford shirt combo. The bowtie really had been too much. Damn it all, and he felt like a complete idiot in corduroys. Honestly, who even wore corduroys anymore?

“You look nice,” Thorin said, holding out the offering in his hand.

Bilbo managed to quiet his mental meltdown – _he thinks I look nice!_ – to stare at the tiny box in Thorin’s hands. “You brought me a gift?” Bilbo asked, completely astounded. He hadn’t thought of that! Maybe he had some flowers in his study?

Thorin nodded, waiting patiently for Bilbo to take it. “I… saw it. On my way here,” Thorin told him as Bilbo opened the box, to find a small piano music box. He twisted the turn key and [Ballad Pour Adeline](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZo6YriF804) began to play.

“Thank you,” Bilbo choked out. This was the nicest gift anyone had ever gotten him. This was completely unfair. Bilbo hadn’t even thought of giving Thorin anything. Any second now he was going to begin bawling, and Thorin would realize that he was not worth his time.

“You don’t mind walking, do you?” Thorin asked, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, nudging with his elbows down the street towards Dale Music Hall.

Bilbo shook his head and Thorin paced away, leaving Bilbo to half-jog to catch up.

God, this was already horrible. Thorin hated him. It was the waistcoat, wasn’t it? He was such a fool. Seriously, why would Thorin even be interested in him?

They walked in silence for what felt like hours, and hardly said a word to each other as Thorin handed over their tickets.

It wasn’t until they were seated, only some old woman for company three seats away, did Bilbo decide to speak up. This was a date, wasn’t it? There was no need for such… awkwardness.

He was Belladonna Took’s son, wasn’t he?

“You know, I really didn’t peg you for a fan of Elrond Peredhil,” he said, gesturing to their program.

Thorin blinked in surprise at him, blurting, “I’m not.”

“Oh.”

Bilbo wondered if it was too soon to pretend as if he suddenly remembered he had an important appointment to go to. Mark this date as a complete and utter failure. He should have known better: just because someone was hot did not mean that they actually had a personality.

“I mean – ” Thorin spoke up, hands clasped tightly on his lap. “I’ve never heard of him before. My sister gave me the tickets and – well she said he was a pianist and you’re a pianist so… I thought I’d ask you. To come. With me.”

He inhaled deeply and Bilbo couldn’t help his smile. Thorin was nervous. He was completely flustered. Of course he was nervous, Bilbo was nervous. Who wouldn’t be nervous on a first date?

“That was very nice of you,” Bilbo said, nudging Thorin playfully with his elbow, making a face at Thorin when he finally looked at him. “I happen to love Elrond’s music. He’s a friend of a friend, you see, and he once played a duet with my father, but that was ages ago. I was probably six or seven.”

Someone sat down beside Bilbo, casually bumping elbows, muttering a polite, ‘excuse me’, but Bilbo hardly noticed, eyes on Thorin. He had to get Thorin out of his shell now, or this whole evening would be for naught.

Thorin grinned, only to look past Bilbo and frown, eyes practically aflame as he gritted out, “And what are you doing here?”

The person beside Bilbo perked up, saying, “What a lovely coincidence, Thorin, my boy. You’re looking  - well not fine – you need to take better care of yourself, have you been sleeping?”

Bilbo turned to tell the stranger to stop being so rude – perhaps there were deep bags under his eyes, but that was no reason to call him out on it -  and he was near gob smacked to find Gandalf sitting there, twinkling arrogantly. “What on earth, Gandalf!” Bilbo exclaimed.

“You know him?” Thorin asked. “This no good, meddling – ”

“I am _not_ meddling,” Gandalf interrupted.

“You very much are meddling,” Bilbo told him.

“ – old man,” Thorin finished, practically ready to jump out of his seat.

Bilbo put a reassuring hand on Thorin’s own, stopping him completely. They both blushed, but didn’t move away. This was really quite nice.

“I saw Dori the other day,” Gandalf prattled on, ruining the moment completely. Thorin clenched his teeth. Now was not the time. “He said you’d be in London; I am very surprised to see you here, my boy.”

“London?” Bilbo repeated, looking at Gandalf, and then Thorin, in astonishment.

Gandalf’s eyes lit up in mischief, and suddenly Bilbo regretted asking at all. Gandalf always was a trouble maker. Even his mother had warned him about Gandalf.

“You haven’t told him?” Gandalf asked, seemingly unaware of the deathly glare Thorin was sending his way. “Bilbo, my boy, I will have you know that he’s got a meeting at Lothlorien Records, with Galdriel Galadhrim herself.”

Bilbo gaped, astonished. That – how – “That’s fantastic,” he exclaimed, turning to Thorin, only to see him clutching at the seat rests, brow furrowed in anger. “Isn’t it?”

“I’m not going,” Thorin said. “I told Dori, and now I’m telling you. Goodbye, Gandalf. You’re ruining a very nice date.”

He crossed his arms and sat back in his seat, back ramrod straight. Perhaps if Bilbo knew Thorin a little better, he would argue, or try to get the whole story, but as it was, he merely sighed and fingered the program.

“You’re just being stubborn,” Gandalf said, leaning over Bilbo, unable to take a hint and desist.

“Good day,” Thorin replied.

Gandalf bristled, bright eyes growing dark. “You listen to me, Thorin Octavius Durin,” he stormed. “You’ve worked far too hard and too long to not accept this deal. I remember you as a young lad, ready to take on the world, with nothing but the knowledge of three chords.”

“I’m not fifteen anymore.”

“No,” Gandalf continued. “Though at the moment you’re acting like you are. The Thorin I knew would have jumped at this opportunity.”

“That Thorin doesn’t exist anymore,” Thorin roared, getting the attention of the other members of the audience. The silence was near deafening, his words echoing throughout the music hall. Bilbo clutched at his chest, surprised to see so much pain etched on Thorin’s face.

“He’s dead,” Thorin said, voice cracking. “He died a long time ago.”

Thorin stood, excusing himself quietly, the entire room of people watching him go.

Bilbo bristled, turning to Gandalf with many a harsh words at the ready. Instead he took a deep breath and said, “I hope you’re happy. Always putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

He followed Thorin out, finding him sitting on a bench just outside the men’s room. His head hung low, and his shoulders sagged under the weight of his grief. It made Bilbo want to go back into auditorium and give Gandalf a good scolding.

Instead, he sat down beside Thorin, patting his knee reassuringly. There wasn’t much he could do, was there, except remind him that he wasn’t alone.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin mumbled after some time.

“It’s alright.”

“Probably the worst date you’ve ever been on.”

“No one said it was over just yet,” Bilbo said, Thorin looking up at him in surprise. “I’m famished.” He stood, offering his hand to Thorin.

Thorin took it, not letting go as they left the music hall, the echo of tinkling piano playing them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, if you guys want a xmas card from me, (i do this annually i love xmas i am horrible) [ here's some info on how to make that happen!](http://andquitefrankly.tumblr.com/post/153686932320/yo-you-want-a-holiday-card) (if you don't have a tumblr (or are not following me), that's okay, just let me know that you're from ao3)  
> Songs:
> 
> [I Want to Write You a Song by One Direction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAYoaLjAwWk)   
>  [Always Gold by Radical Face](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqc2uOunPdA)   
>  [Stay Alive by Jose Gonzalez](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvjNyJ8TBNk)   
>  [Bright by Echosmith](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IQpTeJfMj4)


	18. Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date: continued. Thorin and Bilbo are saps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHA so i know it's been a while since my last update and i said that i was going to be better but then: LIFE. but now i'm alternating updating 3 different bagginshield fics so while i may not update like, weekly, it's just in line behind 2 other fics.  
> idk if i've said, but i put 25 ch as the guesstimate of this fic ending, but WE'LL SEE! it might end sooner (doubt it), or much later than that, but we are def nearing the end. i've honestly had the last chapter planned for 2 years. because i'm like that.
> 
> (MUSIC LIST FOR CH IN END NOTES)

Thorin gripped his menu tightly, eyes glazing over the words. He could hear every muffled laugh, the runned together words of other people’s conversations, the sounds pounding against his skull. It was so hard to focus, his mind running a mile a minute, each thought focused on how he had screwed everything up.

He cleared his throat, preparing himself to speak, but he couldn’t. What would he even say? He could apologize again, but Bilbo would probably just find that annoying. He cleared his throat again.

“You feeling alright?” Bilbo asked, leaning forward and looking at Thorin above the menu. He smiled brightly and Thorin felt his mouth go dry. He nodded slowly.

Bilbo sighed, setting his own menu aside and taking a drink of water. He looked around the restaurant, fingers drumming atop the table. “They’ve got terrible service here,” Bilbo grumbled. “I’ve been ready to order for ten minutes.”

Thorin glanced down at his watch. They’d only been seated three minutes ago. Was he that eager to get rid of him? He should just lie and say he had something to do and leave Bilbo alone to enjoy his lunch without his horrible company.

He was half prepared to stand and make excuses when Bilbo shook his head, grabbing the cloth napkin and folding it into a smaller and smaller triangle. “I’ve always been impatient,” he continued. “I can’t help it, you know. My mind starts wandering and suddenly one second feels like an hour and my hands start fidgeting and my leg starts to shake and my heart is beating so fast that I’m positive I’m dying.”

Another smile.

He untangled the tiny triangle napkin and began folding it in the other direction. “You probably think I’m… boring,” Bilbo blurted.

“No!” Thorin exclaimed, slamming his menu onto the table, his cheeks pink. “No,” he repeated, quieter this time. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

Bilbo laughed, covering his mouth with his hand, the napkin forgotten. “You’re such a liar,” he said. “But thank you.”

“You are,” Thorin insisted. “You are.”

Bilbo blinked, taken aback by his sincerity. A blush of his own was starting to make his way towards the tip of his ears. “Thank you.”

It seemed the waitress must have been lying in wait for their moment to end, for she appeared at that moment, all smiles and a rushed air about her. Thorin blindly pointed at something on the menu, far too eager to be rid of her and return to wooing Bilbo. Or attempting to not make a fool of himself, at the very least.

“So how exactly do you know Gandalf?” Bilbo asked, once the waitress had left.

Or perhaps she could come back so Thorin wouldn’t have to answer that question. Maybe he could somehow project his need for her intervention, short of calling her back and embarrassing himself. He stared at her for a moment or two, the silence stretching on between he and Bilbo.

“Not that you can’t know him,” Bilbo stuttered, his index finger drawing lines around his glass of water, wiping off droplets of condensed water. “I just mean it’s funny how we both happen to know him, that’s all. So I was wondering, but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Shit. He had messed up. Again. Thorin cleared his throat, once, twice, a third time. “Er…,” he said. He took a drink of water. He could do this. Just… don’t venture further down the rabbit hole of depressing thoughts and memories. No biggie.

God, major biggie. Major biggie. “He had a shop a few towns over,” Thorin answered. “A music shop. He taught me how to play guitar.”

Bilbo lit up, “Oh, I remember.”

“Remember?”

“Sorry,” Bilbo blushed. “That article. When you played the Festival. They mentioned you knew him.”

Bilbo had read that article. He had read that article by that horrible journalist who looked down his big nose at Thorin and sneered at him. The reporter hadn’t even looked interested when Thorin was talking to him, and Thorin certainly didn't remember what he had said to him. He mentioned Gandalf, of all things, in that interview? He must have been drunk! Or high on endorphins from a show well played.

“I sound like a stalker or something,” Bilbo continued, head in hands. “I’m really sorry. I’m not, I swear. I just – ”

Thorin began to giggle, a wild sound escaping his body until he threw his head back and practically guffawed. Bilbo? A stalker? If anyone here was up there in the too attached category it was Thorin himself. He practically dreamed their joined lives every night. He would sometimes walk past Bilbo’s shop just to see him through the window, helping children choose new strings for their bow or bent over to stock some books on the shelves.

He was half in love with the man, and Bilbo had no idea. No idea how – how important he was already. Thorin’s whole body felt like it was on fire whenever he so much as saw a glimpse of Bilbo. He was everything Thorin had ever dreamed of in his youth, everything that he needed now at his age, and all those whispered promises that floated in the air while he slept.

Bilbo was the sun and the stars and the oxygen flowing through Thorin’s blood, life was near impossible without him and Thorin was so scared that at any moment Bilbo leave and never return, leaving him an empty shell of a man. He was overwhelmed with emotion; Bilbo was perfect, and he was a horrible mess trying desperately to contain himself.

The waitress returned then, always at the most inopportune of times, with their drinks, sending Thorin a worried look as he continued to chuckle, his smile dizzying.

“Sorry,” Thorin finally managed to say. “Sorry.”

* * *

They walked home in comfortable silence, arms brushing ever so slightly. Bilbo wondered what would happen if he took Thorin’s hand.

How would his hands feel? Would they engulf his own, or would their hands fit together perfectly, like two puzzle pieces finding their place?

Dinner had been exceedingly pleasant, and Thorin’s smile was intoxicating. Once he had finished laughing like a madman, they had managed to have an actual conversation. Thorin's voice was like honey, sweet and rich, that Bilbo could hardly remember what he had said, but he could recall every nuance, every hitch of breath, the breathtaking smiles Thorin would rain down on him. Full of good food and with marvelous company, how could Bilbo even begin to bother worrying about details.

A summer breeze surrounded them and Bilbo took in the sight of Thorin’s hair ruffling in the wind, his cologne filling his senses, the feel of Thorin’s arm pressing insistently against his own as if begging to be taken.

And as if hearing his silent pleas, Thorin’s pink hooked against Bilbo’s own, until Bilbo took the plunge and held his hand, squeezing it in reassurance. Thorin’s face was dusted pink, and Bilbo smiled up at him.

It was like coming home.

They stopped in front of Bilbo’s shop, standing under the awning, hands held tightly, the setting sun painting the sky pretty pink and yellows, setting a mood too hard to break.

“Would you like to come up?” Bilbo asked. “For tea?”

“I’d love tea,” Thorin replied, deep and husky, leaving Bilbo breathless.

Thorin followed Bilbo silently up the stairs, not letting go even when Bilbo struggled to get his keys out of his pockets and unlock the door. Once inside they both toed off their shoes and Bilbo brought Thorin to the kitchen, nudging him towards a chair while he plugged in his kettle.

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” Thorin asked as Bilbo rifled through his cabinets, searching for his mother’s best tea set.

“About what?” Bilbo asked.

“Not going to London.”

Bilbo paused, looking back at Thorin who was more leaning against the kitchen table than standing by it. His good mood gone completely, he stared at Bilbo with sad eyes. This man was going to be the death of him.

“I don’t know the details,” Bilbo answered truthfully. “And I don’t know you well enough to dictate your life.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“You just got here.”

“To London.”

Bilbo sighed, shutting off the kettle. Tea was not going to happen anytime soon. It was too hot for tea anyhow. 

“What do you want, Thorin?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin frowned. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Bilbo said. “Okay. Why don’t you want to go? From what Gandalf said, you could get a record deal. You can continue to play music. People will know you.”

“I don’t want people to know me. I’m not worth knowing.”

Bilbo’s heart clenched. This sad, beautiful man. Did he not realize how amazing he was? How talented he was? He could play stadiums and music halls, he could have the whole world in the palm of his hand, and thought that he was worth nothing.

“I think you’re amazing,” Bilbo said. “I think you’re one of the best musicians I’ve ever met. I think that if you do sign with Lothlorien Records, like Gandalf said, you’ll be incredibly successful.”

“So, I am making a mistake.”

“No. Stop assuming. Let me say what I want to say.”

Thorin nodded as he took a seat.

“I want you to think about why you said no. And why you could say yes. I don’t know you that well, Thorin. But I like you a lot. A whole lot. And I want you to do what you think you should do.”

Thorin nodded again, brows furrowed and mouth pinched. “Thank you,” he said as he stood, standing before Bilbo and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

And like that he was gone, a quiet goodbye and a promise to call and thankful eyes. Bilbo stood in his kitchen until the sun had fully set and the moon had found its place in the sky. The hot July air was stifling and Bilbo couldn’t breathe.

He pressed a hand to his cheek, phantom whiskers brushing his skin, and Thorin’s voice in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Waves - Dean Lewis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KAM1wyQJsto)   
>  [Somebody to Love - Kacey Musgraves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpHLh4iNGAc)   
>  [Lantern - Josh Ritter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPOhe04tuxk)   
>  [There Will Be Time - Mumford and Sons, Baaba Mal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AmycEKdD0b0)


	19. Rivers and Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo are disgustingly cute ugh they disgust me.
> 
> (thorin gets his act together bilbo does not)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAYYYYYYY  
> months have passed. i am a different person now.  
> i'm not. i lie.  
> but a chapter!!! so yay!!  
> also idk how any of this stuff works. like signing music contracts and stuff. so like suspension of disbelief and all that :)

Dori grumbled from beneath his pillow, but still, the persistent knocking continued.

He didn’t know what time it was, all he knew was that he refused to budge. He didn't care who it was, he was not getting of bed for anything less than a fire. He needed his beauty rest. He needed earmuffs.

The knocking turned into pounding and he could hear his name being shouted. They weren’t going to leave anytime soon, were they. Chances were if they kept at it they’d probably wake up his neighbors – and they still held a grudge against him because Nori had stolen their gaudy plastic flamingos. This would make living here an absolute nightmare.

He grabbed his dressing robe and slid his feet into a pair of silk slippers, cursing whoever was at this door. He hoped whoever it was, was prepared for a vicious tongue lashing. He’d probably give them a good punch in the nose too, while he was at it.

He opened the door, clutching at his chest as he took in Thorin’s wild appearance. He looked as if he had just run a marathon, hair unruly and sweat dripping down his temple. “Dori,” Thorin said, stepping forward to brace himself against the door jamb.

“Yes?” Dori asked, stumbling backwards as Thorin stalked forward, slamming the front door behind him, his dirty boots stepping onto Dori’s freshly vacuumed rug. The – the nerve of him!

“What on earth are you doing here?” Dori demanded. It was bad enough he had thrown Dori’s dream of fame and fortune out the window, he didn’t have to go around ruining rugs as well.

“Is it too late?” Thorin asked, running a hand through his sweaty hair. Dori nearly had an aneurism as he wiped his hand on his ratty t-shirt. Honestly, you’d think he was raised by cavemen.

Dori sighed, handing over his least favorite handkerchief, much to Thorin’s confusion. “Too late for what?” Dori asked. It had to be midnight, at the very least. He was too tired for this. Next time he’d invest in someone less difficult. There had to be a musician somewhere in Dale who’d kill to have him as their manager.

“To go to London,” Thorin said.

Dori gaped at him. Now he wanted to go to London! Of all the - “You're not serious!” Dori crowed.

Thorin nodded. “I think – It’s worth a shot. If I don't like what they're selling, we’ll come back - but. But I can't be scared forever.”

Dori clapped his hands, suddenly wide awake. He had so much he had to do. He had to call Miss Galadhrim’s secretary – or maybe he could just call Gandalf – to let them know they were coming. He had to pack, Thorin had to pack!

“You beautiful, wonderful man,” Dori exclaimed. Dori was so happy he could kiss him. Except he wouldn’t. He didn’t have time!

“I’ve got the car in front,” Thorin told him.

Wonderful, amazing man. Dori hadn’t doubted him for a second!

* * *

“How was the date then?” Hamfast asked as Bilbo unlocked the shop. He flipped the sign on the door to ‘Open,’ concern growing as Bilbo didn’t acknowledge the question. “Bilbo?”

Bilbo shrugged, wrapping his arms around him and sitting on the stool behind the counter. “Good,” he answered, turning away when Hamfast raised a skeptical brow at him.

It had been good. Very good. Thorin was – he was more than wonderful, more than Bilbo expected or deserved, really. And if how he acted last night was any indication, he was probably halfway to London, and Bilbo would never see him again.

He was being stupid, he knew that. He had told Thorin to follow his dreams! He should be happy!

And he was happy. If Thorin really was in London signing with Lothlorien Records, then that was marvelous! The whole world would have the opportunity to listen to Thorin sing, to hear him perform, to be privileged enough to hear his music. Thorin deserved success, if the sadness and guilt in his eyes was any indication.

But a small part, a small traitorous part of Bilbo wanted to keep Thorin all to himself. He hardly knew the man! One date. That’s all they had had.

One date and weeks of concerts, each one cementing Thorin’s place in Bilbo’s heart.

Hamfast wanted to argue, but the chime of the bell above the door signaled a customer and Hamfast was, if nothing else, a professional. He turned to greet the customer only to be thrown off by the giant bouquet he was carrying.

“Is there a Bilbo Boggins here?” the delivery man asked, squinting at his clipboard.

“Baggins, actually,” Hamfast answered, only to point at Bilbo as the man tried to shove the flowers onto him.

He placed the flowers on the counter and Bilbo signed for them, murmuring a thank you as he plucked the card out from between the baby’s breath. He could feel his heart thumping loudly and it took two tries to open the little envelope with shaking hands.

_Thank you, Bilbo._

_I had a wonderful evening._  
_I’m currently in London, thanks to you. Hopefully things go well._  
 _When I get back, I’d like to take you out again. If you’d let me._  
 _Have a wonderful day._

_Thorin Durin_

Bilbo let out a dreamy sigh as pink painted his cheeks. That man – that man was going to be the death of him. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of pink roses and daisies, baby’s breath and forget-me-not’s tickling his nose. What a silly man.

“That from him then?” Hamfast asked, eyeballing the flowers with disdain.

“Yes,” Bilbo said, picking up the flowers and placing them in view of the window where they would get the most sunlight. “They’re from Thorin.”

Hamfast sniffed, unimpressed. “He knows that flowers won’t make up for a bad date, don’t he?”

“The date wasn’t bad,” Bilbo told him, returning to the counter and lying his head down on it. “It was wonderful.”

“Then what’s with the long face?”

Because Bilbo hadn’t wanted it to end. Because he was kissed so sweetly, so innocently, and Bilbo felt like he could get used to kisses like that, but then he couldn’t sleep just thinking about how Thorin was moving on and up in the world and here he was living life like normal. Because he was happy and scared all at once and it made his stomach queasy just thinking about it.

Because what if Thorin really did forget about him.

Forget-me-not’s.

Thorin was thinking the same thing.

Bilbo smiled. “I just like him a whole lot.”

* * *

Thorin lay in bed, staring at the hotel ceiling. He could hear Dori talking on the phone in the other room - Galadriel had gotten them a suite, already looking out for her newest investment – and wondered if Bilbo liked the flowers.

He turned onto his side, eyeing his mobile charging on the nightstand. He could text him, or ring him up. Politely inquire about his day, ask if he got the flowers, maybe tell him he missed him even if wasn’t even 24 hours since Thorin had last seen him.

But he didn't have his number. Like an idiot. How could he ask him out but not exchange numbers? Maybe his shop had his number... but that'd be for the shop not his actual mobile phone. 

Maybe he could ask Bofur?

He was prepared to bite the bullet and text him when his phone chimed.

****

**_From: Unknown Number [9:02 PM]_ **

_Bofur gave me your number.  
It’s me. Bilbo_

_Not some weird stalker. Though Hamfast  
seems to think otherwise._

_Tell me to shut up please._

**_To: Bilbo [9:06 PM]_ **

_Never. You’re perfect._

**_From: Bilbo [9:10 PM]_ **

_I love the flowers. You really  
shouldn’t have._

**_To: Bilbo [9:10 PM]_ **

_Yes, I really did.  
I’d do more if I could._

**_To: Bilbo [9:12 PM]_ **

_I feel so stupid_  
_I never asked for your number Or_  
 _gave you mine_

**_To: Bilbo [9:12 PM]_ **

_I wanted to talk to you all_  
_day but I couldn’t._  
 _Because I am an idiot_

**_From: Bilbo [9:13 PM]_ **

_You’re not allowed to badmouth  
yourself. I won’t allow it._

_And I didn’t ask either._

**_From: Bilbo [9:14 PM]_ **

_Mainly because I still can’t believe_  
_that you’re actually…_  
 _attracted to me._

**_To: Bilbo [9:16 PM]_ **

_If I can’t put myself down then  
neither can you._

_I’m more than attracted to you._

_God that’s embarrassing to say out  
loud. _

**_From: Bilbo [9:21 PM]_ **

_Are we… dating? Is this a  
thing that is happening?_

**_To: Bilbo [9:22 PM]_ **

_I hope so._

_Because I really want to date you_

**_From: Bilbo [9:25 PM]_ **

_I feel like a dumb teenager_  
_I’m too old for butterflies and_  
 _blushing like a maiden_

_Get your act together Baggins!_

**_To: Bilbo [9:28 PM]_ **

_Don’t! I’m only sad I’m not  
there to see it. _

**_To: Bilbo [9:30 PM]_ **

_You make me feel the same way._

**_From: Bilbo [9:31 PM]_ **

_I’m so happy I live alone.  
And have no neighbours. _

_So how’s London_

**_To: Bilbo [9:35 PM]_ **

_You mean how’d my meeting  
go_

**_From: Bilbo [9:36 PM]_ **

_Fine yes HOW DID IT GO_  
_Am I going to be hearing  
_ _you on the radio??_

**_To: Bilbo [9:37 PM]_ **

_I doubt it._

**_From: Bilbo [9:37 PM]_ **

_:C_

**_To: Bilbo [9:38 PM]_ **

_Lothlorien has many indie_  
_labels and I’m in talks with_  
 _one of them. I’ve got another_  
 _meeting tomorrow_

**_From: Bilbo [9:40 PM]_ **

_Well I know that you will do  
great. _

**_To: Bilbo [9:41 PM]_ **

_Thank you. That means a lot  
to me. _

**_From: Bilbo [9:42 PM]_ **

_< 3 _

* * *

Bilbo set his phone down and hid his face in his pillow. Maybe if he screamed long enough into it, he would stop feeling like a lovesick teenager.

His phone chimed and Bilbo paused a moment to read Thorin’s latest message.

It was a blushy face emoji.

Right. Back to screaming then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rivers and Roads - The Head and the Heart  
> Flowers in Your Hair - The Lumineers  
> Honest - Joseph  
> I'd Rather Be With You - Joshua Radin
> 
> i need to link the songs but i am tired so hopefully tomorrow!! but they're on the spotify playlist ;) so no worries there


	20. Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Radio/Magazine interviews with our esteemed Thorin Oakenshield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated. It's a post xmas miracle. A boxing day miracle.   
> Because i am not a musician by any means, the songs that are one Thorin's "album" are real songs that I am taking and pretending are his. because i can.   
> We are getting close to the end!

_It’s been a few months since our very own Dale native,Thorin Oakenshield, signed with Anduin Entertainment, and we’ve finally got his newest single. I’m very, very excited._

_I’ve seen him perform live many times, and I’ve been eagerly anticipating new music. I’m obsessed with this song, by the way. I’ve listened to it about 20 times since coming in and our producer is ready to strangle me. I’m going to play it for you all in just a second, but first, rumor has it that Oakenshield’s coming back to Dale in the very foreseeable future to play at Man in the Moon, one night only._

_I’ll have more news about that after his newest song: “Bees.”_

* * *

_HL: I’m here in the studio with Thorin Oakenshield, who just sang “Bees” for us. It’s great to have you._

_TO: Thank you._

_HL: You recently signed with Anduin Entertainment and you’ll be releasing your album, “Bluebells,” soon. Your first album, really, since you’ve had EPs._

_TO: Yeah._

_HL: Could you tell us a little about this upcoming album and what we can expect._

_TO: Like you said, it’s my first LP.  When it’s just you and a couple of mates in the studio, it’s a much more personal feeling, but also, you’re very limited in what you’re creating. For “Misty Mountains” I had really wanted this sort of symphony, which wasn’t feasible. I’m glad I wasn’t stuck on that idea because I liked how simple it turned out. It really worked.  
Now I can say something sort of ludicrous and immediately my producer will say “Yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s do that. I’ll get that for you.” _

_HL: Skies the limit, sort of deal._

_TO: Definitely. It’s frightening. What if it’s a bad idea? They’ll fund it anyway._

_HL: Right. Right._

_TO: I feel that the EPs and singles that I’ve released before “Bees” have really been focused on the past. And you asked what you can expect, and I think you can really expect a focus on the present, and the now, and maybe the future. It’s less hopelessly depressing._

_HL: [Laughter]_

_TO: My sister, which “Bees” was written for, she tells me all the time that my music is really sad. I’ve adopted this tragic figure type of persona and I think I’ve outgrown it. I hope I have, anyway._

_HL: So happier music!_

_TO: I’d say more positive messages. Some love songs. Of course._

_HL: Of course._

_TO: [clears throat] I’ve written a lot of songs for… someone. It’s embarrassing to talk about because my sister and my best mate, they like to rib me about it. They’re happy for me, obviously. But they say I’ve written this album for them, which I don’t think so. But they know me better. So, I guess you all can decide._

_HL: So “Bluebells” will be released this January._

_TO: Fingers crossed._

* * *

_I hadn’t heard the name Thorin Oakenshield until this past summer when he suddenly headlined the Dale Music Festival. Afterwards, I couldn’t get enough of him. And now the rest of the world seems to be catching up._

_His freshman album, “Bluebells”, will be out 19 January. Don’t let the title of “freshman” fool you. Thorin’s been making music for years, releasing several EPs in his self-proclaimed hometown of Dale. He’s a local celebrity, playing in and out of several clubs in the Dale Arts District, though The Man in the Moon Lounge, he admits, is where he really found a voice and confidence that he hadn’t had before._

_I was lucky enough to get an interview with him, and I was beyond ecstatic._

_We met at a small music shop in Dale by name of The High Note. He is friendly with the staff and owners, his own nephews hanging off his arms as he drops them off for their guitar lessons. “We’ll get maybe an hour of peace, tops,” he tells me as the boys are shuffled into a soundproofed classroom. “Two if I bribe them.”_

_He leads me to another classroom and sits at the old piano, fingers lightly grazing the keys, but not pressing. He smiles to himself. “This is where I learned how to play,” he whispers, as if confiding a secret. “I’m still terrible at it.”_

_I don’t believe him._

_Thorin, I’ve been told, is notoriously shy, gruff, and above all, rude._

_He was none of these things._

_He admits that he’s not gotten used to all the attention. “My first fans were my nephews,” he says. “I used to make up silly songs to get them to sleep. My sister was the one who pushed me to start singing in front of others. She really believed that I had talent.” He laughs like he still doesn’t believe it. “I have some fans here in Dale, but they never came to my workshop to hound me or stalk my flat. There’s a very clear boundary. Now I get stopped when buying fish and chips.”_

_He looks comfortable here in this shop. Leather jacket thrown onto the seat beside him, fingers tinkling the keys of the old piano. He smiles and waves at customers that can see him through the glass. It’s not the hellos of a celebrity to fans, just a man to his friends._

_I ask him about the inspiration behind “Bees.”_

_“My sister has always been this rock for me. We lost our brother and father on the same day, and she’s almost ten years younger than me. But without her I don’t think I could really function as a person,” he answers. “It’s a song about our relationship. I try very hard to take care of her and to be the brother she needs, but I’m not always very successful. And I know that I’m not.”_

_I follow up with a question about “I Met Someone”. He throws his head back and laughs. He was clearly waiting for me to bring it up._

_“Everyone’s been asking me about these pronouns in the song.  Like, “do you realize that you’re talking about a man?” I’ve never hid the fact that I’m gay from anyone. Everyone I know knows, so it’s surprising that people don’t realize that about me. I don’t hide it. I think it’s super obvious, but… you know._

_“I wrote the beginning of this song in April. I had seen across the room during a performance, my now SO. But I was just sort of astounded and left breathless. And I was infatuated with him and this idea of him. I went home and I wrote that first stanza. ‘I met someone, he’s thirty-two, he probably has a boyfriend too. Maybe I’ll get lucky this once.’ I showed it to him, you know, after we got together, and he said I should use it, so I wrote this song. About wanting to be with someone and the doubts that creep in amongst that hope.”_

_I ask him the trite question of what we can expect from this album and of course, any future tour dates._

_“There’s a lot of love songs. It makes me feel like I’m sixteen again. My notebooks are filled with these absolutely dreadful love songs. I hate it and love it in equal measure,” he laughs._

_“I’ve said this before,” he continues. “Bluebells is really about the present. How I am now, emotionally, mentally, physically. It’s a journey. A journey of my year. It’s been a good year.”_

_Thorin will be touring the UK this spring, but will give a private show here in Dale at Man in the Moon Lounge on 19 January, to celebrate the release of his first album._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bees by The Ballroom Thieves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYw0AuHutJk)   
>  [I Wish I Knew Better by Owen Danoff](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXDNDQCCp1k)   
>  [I Met Someone by Zander Hawley](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P6Ccy93vjlg)   
>  [Empress by Morningsiders](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_saDLMeBBCQ)


End file.
